Redemption
by xoxNxox
Summary: Jace Herondale has a reputation for being one of the best gladiators around. But Jace has a secret: He was once a prince of Idris, who was forced into a life of slavery after his parents' enemy, Valentine, conquered their kingdom. Now, eight years later, Jace returns to Idris on a quest for redemption. But will his resolve change when he meets Valentine's daughter? AU Clace/OOC
1. Prologue

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hi, guys! This is my first fanfiction on the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare. It basically centers around Jace and Clary, in an alternate universe where Jace is a fallen prince turned gladiator and Clary is the princess of Idris. Basically a star-crossed lovers' story.

I was inspired to write about Jace as a gladiator one day after watching the movie Pompeii. But no worries, this story is nothing like that movie. Just maybe a few elements, but that's it.

Anyway...

Read and Review! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated;)

Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

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**Prologue**

Darkness as black as ink and as thick as velvet engulfed the land of Idris. Save for the tiny specks of silver-white embellishing the ebony sky, the kingdom was plunged in shadows and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of malevolence.

The night was a deceitful beast, a deliverer of pain and anguish.

To some, the night was a blessing, a time for solace, and a time for peaceful contemplation and respite; but to others, the night was a curse, an accomplice to the Devil, abetting him in his sinister plans of wreaking destruction upon the Earth and its inhabitants.

And that night, the Devil was very much at work.

* * *

Soft flames flickered from the candle that sat upon the mahogany bedside table, providing an infinitesimal amount of light in the otherwise dark room.

Jace awoke with a startled gasp, sitting up abruptly in his bed as a storm of noises erupted from just beyond his bedroom door. His lungs constricted in his chest as the deafening sounds of shouting men, accompanied by the sharp clanging of swords and the hauntingly shrilling, dying screams of people reverberated off the walls.

They sounded so close.

_—_So, very close.

They were just outside his room.

Only a single oak-wood door separated him from the chaos outside.

He was unarmed.

He was still too young.

He was not ready to embrace death yet.

_Oh, God—_

"Shh, it's all right. It's going to be all right," Celine murmured against Jace's soft, golden-blonde locks.

Lifting him up gently from underneath the covers, she cradled her eleven-year-old son in her arms before shifting them to hide underneath his bed. With his head tucked underneath her chin, she began to rub his back soothingly in an attempt to cease his hyperventilation.

Just then, a tormented masculine yell rang through the air like an earth-shattering quake. The voice had sounded so familiar to Jace and Celine that they both jumped up slightly from their curled up positions from underneath his bed. Jace trembled, and a muffled sob escaped his lips as his mother huddled closer to him.

Celine tilted Jace's chin upwards, gently forcing him to meet her eyes. The same golden eyes that mirrored his, laden with the same emotions he felt—love, worry, anxiety, and above all, fear.

"Hush, sweetheart. Daddy's fine. We're going to be fine," she told him calmly.

But being the perceptive child that he was, Jace was able to detect the thick feeling of doubt that lay beneath her words. _'It isn't going to be fine. Far from it,'_ Jace thought, though he kept that dreaded opinion to himself.

Burying his face further into his mother's side, Jace clung on to her as though his life depended on it, while desperately trying to tame his erratic breathing.

Time dragged on agonizingly slow that each passing minute to Jace felt like being entrapped in an eternity of purgatory, until finally, the bedlam outside began to boil down, the spine chilling sounds of fighting and massacre progressively dwindling as the night waned.

Eventually, the only noises Jace could distinguish were the voices of the commanders amongst the triumphant group giving orders and the remaining soldiers responding to them dutifully before setting off to do as they were told.

Jace's breathing calmed a little. Maybe he had been over-thinking it. Maybe he was wrong and the yell he had heard earlier wasn't his father's. Maybe his mother was right—they were going to be_ fine_.

Just as he had begun to reassure himself, heavy footsteps equal to the sound of thunder crackling began to dangerously approach Jace's bedroom door. Jace blanched as an ominous feeling overtook him again.

His body stiffened even further as his mother began to crawl forward from their hiding position, a dagger encrusted with jewels and rubies clutched tightly in her right hand. Jace reached out and desperately tugged her arm back, silently begging her to stay.

"No matter what happens, keep quiet and stay hidden. I love you, Jace," his mother whispered, her voice cracking at the end as a single tear escaped her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Celine didn't want to leave her son, but she was determined to protect him, no matter what the consequences were for her.

Planting a soft kiss on Jace's forehead, Celine gently pried his fingers away from her arm; uttering a silent prayer that Jace would do as he was told. Though her heart was hammering furiously, she managed to summon the courage she needed to keep her footing steady as she took slow and measured steps towards the door.

The door to the room burst open with a loud bang. Jace's heartbeat sped up; his chest pounded almost to the point of pain has his mother ran forward, raising the dagger shakily yet determinedly, the honed tip poised to attack the intruder.

Just as she was about to sink the dagger into the man's chest, his arm flew out and she was immediately thrown back with an insurmountable force. Her skull hit the polished wooden floor with a loud and sickening crack, making Jace shudder and he fought back to repress a sob.

The heavily built man with white-blonde hair and black-pit eyes strode into the room casually, arrogance and aggression radiating from him in waves as he looked at Jace's mother with disgust.

"Stupid bitch," he bellowed in a deep voice, raising a heavy boot and landing a sharp kick to Celine's abdomen, probably cracking a few of her ribs in the process. A loud cry of agony left her as she clutched her stomach protectively, trying to shield herself from the man as he abruptly knelt down beside her crumpled form.

Celine lifted her head gingerly, and a cold shiver ran through her spine as she gazed into the pair of black eyes belonging to the man—

Black eyes that swirled like bottomless pits. Black eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. Black eyes she had hoped to never see again.

"_Valentine,"_ she choked, her voice barely even a whisper.

Jace clamped his hand over his mouth, trying his best to suppress a whimper as he watched the man's hands slowly caressing his mother's face while she lay there helplessly in shock and in obvious pain. He saw as she flinched from his touch, jerking her head back before spitting in the man's face scornfully.

The man, Valentine, jolted backwards with a menacing growl; he wiped his face with obvious disdain before backhanding Celine without even a flicker of hesitation. Then, in a flash, he pounced on top of her and straddled her hips, causing her to writhe violently beneath him in a hopeless endeavor to free herself.

"SHUT UP!" he roared, grabbing her by her hair and smashing the back of her head roughly against the floor with another thundering crack.

By then, Celine gave up and lay still. Her eyes glazed over with unshed tears as the energy began to slowly drain away from her body. Putting more of his weight on her, Valentine bent down till his mouth was level with her right ear. With a maliciously crooked grin, he breathed, "Now that your husband's dead, I shall make you _mine_, and I will _take you_ just the way I like it."

Celine let out a loud cry, no longer disguising the horror she felt as Valentine affirmed her of her husband's death and revealed his plans to ravish her without her consent. "Please, no!" she screamed pleadingly in between sobs as his hands moved down and pulled her dress up in a bunch near her hips before removing the buckle on his belt and undoing his pants.

The next few minutes flew by in a torturous daze. Jace watched in hopeless silence, as the spiteful man ravaged his mother, her piercing screams permeating the air as he continued to thrust into her mercilessly.

With each passing second, he felt every breath leave him in a shudder, and he felt an increasingly burning hatred for the man and the situation that he and his mother were put in. He wanted so badly to put an end to the man's actions and beat the shit out of him for what he's done, and is doing to his family, but he couldn't. So he just lay there, curled up in a ball, shedding silent tears for his mother and father.

After what seemed like forever, feeling finally satisfied with his deed, Valentine detached himself from Celine, a baleful smirk on his face as he moved away to adjust his garments properly again. He felt good, powerful, and undeniably fulfilled. Stephen was dead, and the woman he once obsessively _loved_, the woman who betrayed him, finally got a taste of what it felt like to be hurt. He had sworn vengeance, and hell, it had never felt so gratifying or tasted so sweet.

As the last of the flames from the candle on his bedside table slowly died out, Jace became fully aware that his mother now lay completely and utterly still. Unable to stop himself, Jace let out a whimpering noise, and within moments, Valentine's eyes darted over to his hiding spot underneath his bed.

As their eyes met, the corner of Valentine's lips curled up into a hideous smirk. The gears in his dark mind whirred—formulating a vindictive plan—and he charged towards Jace with an undeterred purpose. His large hands shot forward, clutching Jace's arms tightly, before dragging him out and dumping his thrashing form next to his mother's motionless one.

Momentarily forgetting about the man, Jace immediately rushed up onto his knees to check on his mother. Sweeping the strands of her dirty blonde hair—now matted with both blood and sweat—away from her face, Jace tenderly leaned down and stroked his mother's cheek, willing her to open her eyes for him. As if recognizing his touch, Celine's eyes fluttered open slowly, and her golden irises met Jace's identical ones.

"Mommy," Jace squeaked, carefully lowering himself to embrace his mother. She responded, though noticeably weakly, before pulling back to brush the curls hovering over Jace's eyes.

As their eyes met once again, Jace noticed with quiet alarm that her eyes were now blank and empty, as though her soul had already been sucked out of her body. Letting the tears fall yet again, Jace pleaded with his mother to stay with him, to hold on, to fight for him. She was the only one he had left and he didn't want to lose his mother—not yet. She was supposed to watch him grow up, smile at him with pride as he married his true love and spend the rest of her greying years playing her grandchildren. Not now. '_Please, not now. Just stay with me, like you promised.'_

Just as Celine opened her mouth to console her son, her eyes suddenly widened in horror and before Jace could react, a sword descended upon his mother's neck, splattering blood all over his face. A gush of breath left Jace's body in an instant, and for those few moments, he was paralyzed.

His mother was gone.

_'My mother is gone. My mother is gone. My mother is gone,'_ the voice buzzed repeatedly in his head. And he couldn't bring himself to move even an inch of his muscles or even cry anymore. He felt like a vessel, empty and hollow on the inside.

A sadistic and manic laugh broke him out of his catatonic state, and Jace whipped around, fury and loathing blazing in his golden eyes. "You sick son of a bitch!" he snarled before racing towards his mother's dagger that lay discarded a few feet away.

Just as Jace's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger, Valentine raised his own sword that he used to slaughter Celine and brought down the hilt harshly onto his temple, seizing his movements instantly. As Jace slowly faded into unconsciousness, he took a final glance at his mother's corpse and silently swore to avenge her death.


	2. Chapter 1: Facing Changes

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hi, guys. I know I just posted the prologue, but anyway, here's Chapter 1. It follows the night after the events in the prologue, basically ties up to how Jace ended up being a gladiator. I shall post the next chapter soon, too, since I've been working on this story for a while and have drafted about six chapters so far...just need to vet some more because I'm quite paranoid about my grammar and everything.

Anyway, read and review!

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters;)

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**Chapter 1: Facing Changes**

A splash of cold water upon his face jolted Jace awake from the fresh memories of his mother's death that plagued his mind's eye unsparingly during his slumber.

Jace sat up, fuming as he came face-to-face with the culprit who had thrown the bucket of water on him. White-blonde hair, pitch-black eyes like a demon—his mother's murderer. Jace bared his teeth in a snarl, an animalistic growl emanating from deep within his throat.

Valentine chuckled, seemingly amused with the eleven-year-old boy's attempts to intimidate him. "Aww, look at that. I'm absolutely shaking in his boots," the asshole jeered sarcastically, reaching out his hand to mockingly pat Jace's head like a puppy.

"_Fuck you_," Jace snarled as he snapped his head up to bite the fiend's hand.

Shouting in pain, Valentine drew his hand back and punched Jace squarely in his face, causing blood to trickle from his nose. Incensed, Jace tried to spring up onto his feet but his hands were, unfortunately, bound to the wall by chains.

'_Patting my head. Chaining me up like a dog. Great, just great,' _Jace thought scornfully as he kicked at the gravel on the ground, the chains rattling noisily with his movements.

His bitten hand clutched to his chest, Valentine glared at Jace disdainfully. "You will regret your actions soon enough, _child_," he spat out venomously. "The spawn of Stephen and Celine Herondale—I promise you, you will rue the day you were born," he pointed a finger at Jace threateningly as the boy, unfazed, matched his glare, before he turned away and left the room.

As the metal door clang shut, Jace took in several deep breaths to compose himself before assessing the room he was imprisoned in—which wasn't much in the first place.

The room was relatively small and stuffy, and was only lit up by a single kerosene light that was hung by the door. To his right was a barred up window that let in a soft early morning breeze in the otherwise dank and humid bare cell. A funky, putrid smell hung in the air, making Jace feel slightly nauseous.

Letting his head fall backwards against the moldy wall, Jace sighed loudly. _'What is he planning to do with me? Why didn't he just kill me like how he killed my parents? Bloody bastard,'_ he thought derisively, the anger and contempt building up in him yet again. He was going to kill that asshole, if that was the last thing he did.

As he gingerly moved his chained hands to rub his palms over his face, his mind flashed back to the previous night's events—

The chaos that woke him up from his night's sleep. His mother rushing into his room and pulling him underneath his bed to hide. His father's yell as he was killed outside his room. His mother attacking the man before he overpowered her. His mother's screams as she was raped. Her dull, lifeless golden eyes as the man slaughtered her right before him.

His chest throbbed with the pain of the loss of his family, yet the tears refused to come. Instead, the hatred he felt for the man grew. It blossomed in his chest like another entity just waiting to be released. '_I will avenge my parents. And I will return the favor tenfold,' _he vowed.

The sound of the heavy metal door being heaved open broke Jace out of his reverie. Jace dropped his hands to his sides and glanced up at his visitor.

In the doorway stood a soldier clad in silver armor similar to his mother's murderer, though his was simpler and had a much less intricate design to it. He had dark brown, messy hair that fell over his ears and grey-blue eyes that for some strange reason Jace could not comprehend held a tinge of warmth and compassion—much unlike the other man, who Jace decided to name 'the asshole'. Nevertheless, that did not stop Jace from scowling bitterly at the man as he walked towards Jace and stopped just a foot away from him.

"What do you want?" Jace snapped coldly, his golden eyes harboring the smolder of hatred he felt for the asshole, and 'his people' in general.

"Lord Valentine has ordered me to bring you to the market. You are to be sold as a slave," the man replied in a surprisingly gentle yet measured tone.

"Valentine? You mean that asshole who raped my mother and murdered my parents?" Jace hissed. The man's eyes flickered around for a moment before he returned Jace's glare with a steady and neutral gaze. Just as he opened his mouth to answer him, Jace interrupted, "Why sell me as a slave? Why not just kill me? Letting me live while he takes over my father's kingdom—he's making a stupid mistake, if you ask me. Mark my words: I will kill him. And I will kill his entire family for what he's done to me and my family."

The man's mouth parted slightly as he gaped at the young boy's spiteful words but before he could say anything else, another voice cut in.

"I would like to see you try, young prince," the cool, steely voice belonging to the one and only asshole boomed as he sauntered into the room again. Jace's hands shook furiously, clattering the chains as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why keep you alive? Making a stupid mistake you say," Valentine stroked his chin in mock thoughtfulness, "I say it's all part of my well-thought and elaborate plan to get revenge on your pathetic excuse of a father."

Valentine grinned as he folded his arms across his chest in an authoritative stance, his gaze hard on Jace's. "Picture this—The last bloodline of the Herondales and former heir to the Idrisian throne reduced to the bottom of the common trash, serving commoners, no less."

He chuckled darkly, "That's sure to make your father roll over in his grave in humiliation and agony as his feeble and helpless son is treated and tortured as a worthless slave. Even in death, your father won't be able to rest in peace. He'll watch as his only beloved son crumbles from his former life of glory while his enemy takes over the kingdom he worked so hard to build and protect."

Bending down so that he was eye-level with Jace, Valentine uttered in a low, calculated voice, "Think of yourself as the collateral damage. Your father had crossed me deeply—at more than one occasion in the past, if I may add—and you are simply," he waved his hand around in the air carelessly, "…atoning for his mistakes."

His hands shackled tightly in front of him, Jace trudged forward as Valentine's second-in-command, who had earlier introduced himself as Lucian Graymark, or Luke, flanked him on his right. They had set off for the market just shy of an hour after Valentine came to bid Jace farewell and 'good luck' for his new life as a slave.

Jace was still fuming, but he kept his cool as he reassured himself that he would get his vengeance in time. And till that day comes, he would let his hatred grow and fuel his will to live, even if the life that awaited him was nothing short of a terrible slave's life.

As they entered the market, Jace noticed that it was much more packed than usual. '_More of Valentine's people, no doubt_,' he reckoned with foul distaste.

Despite the chaos of the invasion the night before, business seemed to go on as normal, though there was a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

"Here we are," Luke announced, stopping in front of a makeshift wooden stage set up in the middle of what Jace recognized to be the market's square.

Perched on top of the stage was a portly gentleman dressed to the nines, much like most of the aristocrats in Idris. Behind him, in stark contrast, stood a line of men, women and children alike dressed in drab attire, or in Jace's frank opinion, rags.

'_Slaves_,' Jace thought, furrowing his eyebrows as he scrutinized them. '_The stout fellow on stage must be in charge of the slavery trade, then.'_

"Ahh, General Lucian Graymark. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Looking for some slaves for the new king? I am sure I will be able to find him some suitable ones to accommodate his needs," the corpulent gentleman spoke in an eager voice as he approached Jace and Luke, who stood a ways off the stage.

"On the contrary, Malachi, no, that is not why I am here. Lord Valentine has sent me here to hand this boy over to you. He is to be sold as a slave," Luke replied good-naturedly as he gestured to Jace who stood up straight, his chin angled upwards, exuding an air of confidence like his father had taught him.

Malachi's eyes darted over to Jace, examining the eleven-year-old boy like a specimen before a look of recognition flashed over his face. "The boy?" he pointed to Jace, "P-prince Ja–Jace?" he stuttered questioningly, an eyebrow rose in confusion.

Luke nodded thoughtfully before simply replying, "Yes, he is."

Malachi continued to stare at Jace, his mouth slightly agape before Jace himself spoke up cockily, "I know I'm a stunningly attractive child, but you don't need to stare. It's terribly impolite. If my father was here, he wouldn't approve of your actions."

_'A bright and intellectual child, indeed, much like his parents_,' Luke thought with a carefully disguised smirk. _Shame he has to end up this way,'_ he almost sighed aloud. By no means did Luke agree with Valentine and what the man stood for, but being his second-in-command, most trusted companion and the godfather to his two children, he had no choice but to obey his orders.

Malachi cleared his throat, and his face flushed in slight embarrassment. Jace chuckled, watching in amusement, as the man appeared to be having a raging internal battle with himself. "I, I—um—what I meant to—I, uh—"

Malachi cleared his throat again before asserting, "Right. Though it may be, your father is no longer the king, nor is he alive; therefore, I do not take orders from you anymore. Come this way," he finished hastily before gesturing to Jace to come join him and the other slaves on the stage.

Luke gave Jace a parting nod, which Jace, despite himself, found returning, before the soldier took his leave. Giving himself a silent pep talk, Jace strode up the steps confidently, where he was immediately directed to the front of the stage where Malachi stood.

As Jace positioned himself next to Malachi, he became aware of the attention that he had acquired from the crowd that had been idly meandering through the square. Amongst the throng of people that had gathered in front of the stage, he spotted faces light up in recognition of Jace's identity, some looking appalled and others simply surprised. Hushed whispers and murmurs ran through them, each one curiously musing about the young prince and what he was doing amongst the slavery stock.

As soon as Malachi had finished addressing the crowd's inquiries regarding the young prince, the square erupted in a pandemonium. Jace kept his disposition collected and indifferent, tuning out the noises of people shouting over one another their bidding prices in order to earn him as their slave.

_'Fuck this. Fuck them all,' _he thought sourly. If he'd thought for a second that someone would be loyal and kind enough to step up for his prince, he was sorely mistaken. _Traitors_. None of them cared for him. None of them cared about what had happened to the royal family—'_The royal family that had, up until their deaths, been looking after all these ungrateful people and keeping them out of poverty and starvation,' _he added.

Becoming increasingly bored and impatient, Jace began tapping his foot incessantly while humming the tune of a lullaby his mother used to sing him to sleep when he was a toddler. A smile ghosted over his lips as he remembered his mother's face that had always seemed to look at him with adoration and affection, even when he misbehaved. His mother, who had held him on pedestal, loving him unconditionally—who was now gone. Because of an asshole named Valentine. Jace's smile soon turned into a scowl, as last night's events began to wash over him for the umpteenth time today.

Just as he mused about how he would execute his revenge on the man whom he hated with a passion, Malachi tapped Jace on his shoulder; ceasing his plotting effectively and snapping his attention back to the present. Jace glanced over at Malachi as he slowly pushed him towards a slightly tanned, mildly muscled man standing by the right side of the stage.

As Jace approached him, he took in his new _master_—a man with dark hair and brown eyes—who looked oddly familiar to Jace. The man handed over his bid to Malachi, who accepted it with poorly concealed excitement, before taking Jace by his forearm lightly and leading him off the stage and away from the market.

As Jace trailed along after his master, he searched his memories for signs of recollection about this man. '_Who is he?'_ Jace questioned himself over and over again in his mind.

"I'm Michael Wayland. You may address me as Master or Sir," the man spoke, as though he had heard Jace's question.

_'Wayland… Michael Wayland? Why does that name ring a bell?'_ Jace pondered, a crease appearing in between his eyebrows as he fought hard to remember the important detail that he was certain was buried somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind. '_Think, Jace! Think!'_

"I am, or was, rather, your father's General, before I resigned from office a couple of years back and moved to Alicante, a fair country just west of Idris, to take part in some other…entertaining activities, shall we say—activities that your father and your grandfather did not particularly _condone_," he continued while Jace listened intently. He paused, looking back at Jace and smirked at the curious young boy. "Have you ever heard of gladiators, son?"

"Gladiators?" Jace echoed in a question, before shaking his head slightly, giving Michael the sign to continue talking.

"Men who take part in armed combat against other men or wild animals in arenas to entertain large crowds of people. They're warriors, who occasionally are forced to fight to the death, though usually the crowds have the final say on whether a gladiator lives or dies, depending on the value of the match," Michael explained, his hands clasped together behind his back as he walked. "These gladiators are usually slaves. Though in certain instances, once they've proven their worth in the arena, they are freed."

Jace sucked in a breath, a knowing look filled with a sense of foreboding etched onto his face, though he dared not speak up. He did not like where this one-sided conversation was leading to at all.

"Surely your father has trained you a little, though? Self-defense and all that?" Michael inquired. Jace merely nodded, his steps getting heavier as he followed Michael towards a plain-field meadow where a grey horse was waiting for them, its reins tied securely around the trunk of the single oak tree that grew there.

"Well, Jace, I may as well be forward with you. I understand you are still a young boy, but I see a lot of potential_—_fight, in you. You will make a fine gladiator one day, but until then I will train you. Make you stronger, faster. And maybe one day, you'll be good enough to earn your freedom," he finished with a smile.

Jace smiled back stiffly, schooling his features into a placid and neutral expression, although on the inside, he felt like he was about to combust. How much does one boy have to take in in less than 24 hours? As if it wasn't bad enough that he's a slave—now he's dragged into some gladiator shit.

'_Oh, joy. So much for killing Valentine. Now I have to get through a bunch of men who are open to the idea of killing for fun before I can get to him_,' he thought miserably, his chest tightening again. Ugh, forget about completing his gladiator training, much less being killed by gladiators in an actual arena. At the rate his heart had been acting in the last few hours, he was going to die of a cardiac arrest before he even lived to be a teenager.

Once they had reached the grey mare, Michael lifted Jace up easily, settling him onto the saddle before climbing to sit behind Jace. Tugging the reins of the horse firmly, he led it to a steady gallop away from Idris.

"We start anew, at Alicante. I believe you'll settle in just fine, Jace. Don't worry about it," Michael said, his chest vibrating with silent laughter against Jace's back.

How Jace wanted to twist around and punch Michael in the face for telling him to not worry about it. The bastard_. _As far as he was concerned, he had every right to freak out. He dug his nails into the front of the saddle, grinding his teeth together in agitation. Amidst all the chaos running through his head, a sudden calming thought hit him—

_'I will train hard. I will fight hard, and I will earn my place in the arena. And once I'm free, I'll come back to Idris and drag Valentine by his head and kill him in front of his family and the thousands of people watching. And finally, I will reclaim my birthright in Idris.'_

And with that in mind, Jace allowed a genuine smile to spread across his face.

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**Hope you guys liked this chapter!**

**We'll meet Clary in the next one;)**


	3. Chapter 2: Coming Home

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hi, guys!

First off, I'd like to thank my fellow readers, followers etc. To my first four reviewers, thank you so much for your reviews; I really appreciate them!;)

So, to keep it short, here's Chapter Two! As the title suggests, it's when Jace comes home to Idris. And you'll meet Clary somewhere in the middle of this chapter.

R&R! And Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Coming Home**

_8 years later…_

Jace ambled along amongst his fellow gladiator comrades steadily, the manacles holding his hands together no longer a hefty weight on him.

Michael's guards led the way on horses, one of them in front, two flanking each side, and two more minding the rear. The eight gladiators were aligned in pairs, their hands cuffed as usual, though they weren't chained to one another. Michael himself was nowhere to be seen; often travelling at his own unhurried pace, trusting his guards to be capable of chaperoning his gladiators to each of their expected destinations.

The scorching sun bore down on Jace heavily, making sweat drip from his forehead down to his chin and soaking his shirt with perspiration. His throat felt parched, and his muscles were fatigued from the long distance he had been walking; yet he trudged on, his pace even though his heart and mind were racing.

Today was the day.

Today was the day that Jace would return to his homeland, to Idris. _Finally_. After eight years of brutal physical and psychological training to become a gladiator, Jace had made it to the big leagues. All the years of hard work had paid off and at long last, Jace would be competing at Arena Dumont, the largest, most extraordinary arena built for the gladiator games, and battle amongst the greatest of gladiators.

Jace smiled as each step took him closer to Valentine, the man he had sworn to kill eight years ago. The man who now shamelessly sat on his father's throne and overlooked the gladiator games.

A lot had changed since the day Jace was taken into the market and Michael had bought him from the slavery trade. Despite the bruises, the scars and the blood Jace had shed since he started his gladiator training, he had never once looked back on his journey with regret. In fact, he was deeply grateful for it. No longer was he was a scrawny, little boy who used to depend on his mother and father and had servants waiting on his hand and foot.

With time, Jace had hardened and grown into a handsome young man with a remarkable physique. Standing at a height of six foot two, Jace had a lean though fairly built figure with well-toned muscles that not only showed off his beauty, but his tremendous strength and his journey into a man. He wasn't the largest of gladiators in terms of size, but he certainly had an impressive repute.

Though he had started off pretty shakily, Jace always pushed himself beyond his limits when he trained, working on his weaknesses and fine-tuning the skills he had already mastered. Though Michael had never admitted it before, Jace knew he was secretly proud of how the young man had turned out.

Despite being one of the youngest gladiators to ever compete in a battle arena, having started at only the age of 17, Jace had defeated plenty of formidable opponents from far and wide, even those with a decade-long of experience on the battlefield and those twice his size. Now, two years later, Jace was a crowd favorite, and his gladiator name 'Shadowhunter' was well known across countries that celebrated the gladiator games.

Jace smirked as he recalled his first kill. Sure, when Michael entered him in his first ever, real combat, Jace was scared as hell. But as he stared down the face of his opponent, he remembered the one important lesson from training—and that was to never show your opponent your fear or vulnerabilities. So as his opponent made his first advance on him, Jace let himself get lost in the high of the battle, guiding his movements to be swift, graceful and precise as he countered each of his opponent's blows before finding the opening he needed to strike him down.

Needless to say, fighting was like second nature to Jace. He lived for the adrenaline and the adulation people showered him with each time he brought down his adversary. It was a thrilling lifestyle, and Jace relished every second of it.

"Jace!" Michael's voice rang out, breaking him out of his musings. Jace stopped in his tracks and turned around gracefully to face Michael, who was galloping towards him on a grey horse, just a couple feet away from him.

_'Huh, he decided to catch up with us, after all,' _Jace smirked, stopping in his tracks to wait for his master and to allow himself a moment of respite.

"Here," Michael said as he retrieved a bottle of water from his satchel and tossed it to Jace to replenish his drying throat. Jace caught the bottle easily, before unscrewing the cap and taking generous gulps of the offering.

Jace knew that despite how hard Michael was on him, he held a certain fondness for Jace unlike the other gladiators he owned and was often concerned about his welfare. Actually, now that Jace came to think of it, Michael had never once regarded any of his other gladiators like he did Jace; it was almost as though Jace was indispensable, _special_, to him.

"Thanks," Jace replied as he passed Michael back the bottle of water. Michael gave him a curt nod, before dismounting his horse to walk alongside Jace at a leisurely pace. They walked in comfortable silence, straying behind the others.

"Now Jace, I know you've been looking forward to coming home since we left here eight years ago," Michael said, planning his words carefully.

"But once we reach Idris, I expect you to have plenty of rest after your training and focus on the task at hand. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow and I want you to make a good impression on the crowd here. They tend to be…harder to please. Win them over, then maybe you can finally earn your freedom," Michael told him, patting Jace's back lightly as Jace rubbed the side of Michael's horse affectionately.

Jace only nodded, mentally preparing himself for what awaited him. He was undeniably nervous and excited at the same time.

'_How much has Idris changed since I left? Would anyone recognize me when I get home? What if Valentine recognizes me and orders a public execution before I even get to him?_' he wondered as he ran his fingers through his damp curls.

As the Idris gates came into sight, Jace found himself holding his breath and his heart rate increasing even further. Michael gave him a reassuring wink before walking ahead of Jace, giving him time and space to collect himself. Jace exhaled loudly, before taking in a deeper breath to steel his nerves, then strode forward confidently after Michael.

* * *

As it turned out, Idris hadn't changed much since Jace left.

With the exception of Arena Dumont being added to facilitate the gladiator games, everything else looked the same as before.

Up ahead, the grand crystal glass towers of the Idrisian palace loomed, the spires stretching upwards to meet the swirling white clouds in the vast pale blue sky. Jace squinted his aureate eyes as one of the sun's rays glinted off the glass towers, fleetingly blinding him. The market was just as busy as ever, with people coming in and out in throngs, shoving and talking over one another as they went along.

"Idris is crowded this time of the year," Michael began, scratching his chin pensively as they stalked towards a stall selling apples. "But it's even more so when the big gladiator events come around. In Idris, they organize a total of four events in a year, each one a good three months away from the other to give these gladiators the time to train and recuperate from whatever injuries they have sustained from the previous games."

Michael paused momentarily, examining a stock of red apples before picking up two of them. Digging his left hand into the pockets of his trousers, he retrieved a single silver shilling before paying it to the stall vendor, a curvy teenage girl around Jace's age with platinum-blonde hair and steel-blue eyes.

She cast Jace a flirtatious gaze, jutting her bottom lip out slightly and bending forward to show off her cleavage in an attempt to look seductive. Unfortunately for the girl, Jace flippantly ignored her. He couldn't care less about girls, no matter how pretty they were. His mind was set on one thing and one thing only—killing Valentine—and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Michael handed Jace an apple, which he graciously accepted before taking a large bite into it. '_Hmm, crunchy and sweet,'_ Jace thought with a slight chuckle, the taste of the apple delighting his taste buds. It had been a long time since he last had something as remotely decent as an apple. Being a gladiator, his diet mainly consisted of barley, oatmeal, boiled beans, ash, and dried fruit. And most of the time, these meals tasted pretty bland, to say the least.

"Tomorrow would be the trial games, something like a preliminary round leading up to the year-end gladiator event," Michael continued as they moved along towards the direction of the Dumont, which was a good 10 minutes away on foot. "If you impress Valentine, and more importantly, the crowd tomorrow, you'll get through into the upcoming gladiator event."

"Sounds great," Jace replied half-heartedly, his eyes glazing over darkly as his thoughts flew to how he would kill Valentine and his family when the opportunity presents itself.

Michael looked over his shoulder at Jace, who was absent-mindedly chewing on his apple and smirked. Reaching into his belt, Michael plucked out a set of keys, and then proceeded to remove the manacles on Jace's hands. Jace frowned, questioning Michael silently on what he was doing.

"We have about a good hour to spare before we are due at Dumont," Michael explained. "Why don't you have a walk around, see how things are in Idris? Just don't wander off too far," he offered, patting Jace's back in a fatherly gesture. "Meet me back at the market square in the next half an hour."

Jace grinned back at Michael gratefully as he waved him off. Letting his instincts take charge, Jace walked off in a random direction, a bounce in his step. Michael had never let him off on his own before, so the fact that he allowed him to made his chest soar with pride at the knowledge that he trusted him, even if he was a slave.

* * *

In his autopilot mode, Jace found that he had somehow led himself to the front of the bakery store his mother used to love, _Taki's. _As he took in a huge whiff of the once familiar aroma of scrumptious bread, mixed with cinnamon, honey and spices, Jace felt his heart twinge a little.

He felt helpless as his memories invaded him once again, though this time it was of happier moments, when his mother would let him pick whatever he desired from _Taki's_—croissants, Danishes, muffins, or assorted cupcakes topped with whipped cream.

Jace's expression turned sad for a moment as he realized he could never afford any of those treats ever again—not unless he was a free man. And only God knew when he would be free, he thought somberly.

Just as Jace was about to turn away, he felt a sharp tug on his left forearm. On impulse, Jace was about to retaliate when he realized that his 'attacker' was only a young boy by the age of nine with dark hair and grey eyes, and a pair of crooked, round-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He was grinning at Jace widely, his eyes were gleaming with excitement and awe.

"Whoa, cool! You're the one they call 'Shadowhunter', aren't you? I've heard stories about you! You're one of the youngest and best-est gladiators out there!" the boy exclaimed animatedly, his glasses bouncing up and down his nose as he bobbed on his feet.

Jace chuckled, bending down so that he was eye-level with the boy, "Yeah, that's me." The boy sucked in a breath, his eyes widening in glee before he started hopping up and down in front of Jace.

"Oh, how cool is this? I got to meet one of the greatest gladiators ever in person!" he almost squealed. Jace chuckled again, patting the boy lightly on his head.

"Well, you know who I am. What's your name, buddy?" Jace asked, feeling himself warming up to the boy.

The boy opened his mouth, about to answer Jace when all of a sudden—

"Max!" a gentle yet firm female voice, mixed with both frustration and relief, cut in.

Jace and the boy, Max, turned their heads simultaneously to the direction of the owner of the voice—a stunningly beautiful yet petite young woman with fiery auburn tresses that curled down to her tiny waist and astonishingly mesmerizing emerald green eyes—who was currently stomping towards them angrily.

Feeling momentarily winded, Jace continued kneeling on the ground, in a dumbfounded state, until the girl stopped directly in front of him and Max. Snapping back into reality, Jace got onto his feet, brushing the knees of his pants hastily before facing the girl who had her hands on her hips and was mildly glaring at Max.

At closer inspection, Jace noticed that the girl had pale, ivory skin, and a light dusting of freckles decorated her button nose. She wore very minimal make-up, choosing to keep her face natural yet glowing with a youthful radiance. She wore a simple, floor-length cream-colored chiffon dress with an empire waist and a Mechlin lace bodice topped with a blood-red velvet cloak. Jace sighed inwardly—_She was the epitome of beauty._

"Max, what did I say about telling me or Isabelle before sneaking off somewhere? You could have easily gotten lost or worse, hurt!" the girl chided as Jace continued appraising her with total abandon.

The corner of Max's lips twitched downwards slightly, his eyes shining with a tinge of remorse. "I'm sorry, Clary. I promise I won't do it again. Please don't get mad at me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered repeatedly in a small voice as he reached out to hug Clary by her waist.

Clary groaned, her glare softening as she bent down to reciprocate Max's hug. "It's fine, Max. Just don't do it again," she replied, her voice much gentler this time as she pushed Max's fringe out of his eyes.

Suddenly realizing that Jace was standing there gaping at her, Clary dropped her hold on Max and spun around to face him. "Umm, uh—Hi?" Clary uttered in a question, her cheeks blushing as she took in the appearance of the stranger who stood before her.

Though dressed rather shoddily in a tan-colored shirt made from canvas loincloth and brown leather pants matched with a pair of the same-colored leather boots, he stood out as a lean and handsome young man with high cheekbones and a sturdy jawline—much like her older brother Jonathan. He had silky-looking golden curls that reached just past his ears, matched with a pair of tawny, golden eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun. Even his skin was a golden tan. '_Hmm, everything about him is golden, like an angel,'_ Clary mused dreamily before her face reddened again.

"Hi, there," Jace said, bowing slightly to greet Clary.

"Um, hi," Clary returned, a shy smile upon her flushed face. Turning back to Max, Clary said, "Why don't you go find Isabelle? I'm sure she's been wondering about where you are. Go on."

Max nodded, turning to leave in the direction that Clary came from, but not before shooting Jace an impish grin.

Jace smirked as the boy sprinted away, leaving him and Clary by themselves. Having composed himself a little, he tried to act nonchalant and threw a wink in Clary's direction, instantly making her face turn fifty shades of red that would put her own fiery red hair to shame. Jace chuckled inwardly, '_Damn, she's so adorable when she blushes.'_

Clary cleared her throat, offering her hand to Jace as she introduced herself properly. "Princess Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, though I prefer to be called Clary," she spoke in a clear voice.

Jace's mouth fell open a little. '_Princess? She's Valentine's daughter? Oh, of course she is, you idiot, can't you tell by the way she's dressed? Oh, shut up, you imbecile, I just forgot about the whole Valentine shit for a while_,' he argued, mentally giving himself a face palm for not realizing who she was sooner. He was screwed. One hundred and one percent screwed. Of all the people he had to run into, he had to come face-to-face with Valentine's daughter. '_The daughter of your enemy who you swore to kill_,' he reminded himself again. '_Oh, fuck_.'

Clary frowned, tiny creases appearing in between her eyebrows as she dropped her hand, realizing that Jace wasn't going to take it. "Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she demanded, her voice raised an octave higher in annoyance.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Princess. My name's 'Shadowhunter'. I'm a gladiator; I hail from Alicante," Jace simply answered, his voice cool and even, his face a vacant expression.

"Sooo, that's it?" Clary retorted. "You're not going to tell me your real name?"

"I apologize, Milady, but I believe I cannot. We gladiators are expected to keep our identities confidential."

"I don't remember there ever being such a rule!" Clary scoffed in disbelief, her arms crossed over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Jace.

The gladiator smiled back at her smugly, his tall figure towering over her small frame of five foot three. '_For someone so tiny, she sure has enough temper to make her look intimidating. Adorable, yet hot all the same… ugh, damn you, Jace Herondale! Pull yourself together!_'

"Hmm, you're right. There might not be such a rule, but unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable disclosing such private details with you, my fair Lady. Therefore, unless you have earned my trust, Shadowhunter would have to do for now," Jace countered, making Clary narrow her eyes at him even further. He cringed inwardly at the truth behind his statement, despite how offhanded he made it sound.

Rolling her eyes at him, Clary turned away from Jace sharply, stalking off into _Taki's._

_'Oh, boy,' _Jace sighed before following her into the store, feeling helplessly drawn to the fiery little girl. '_Might as well get some information out of her while I'm at it.'_

"So, tell me, how did the gladiator games came to be in Idris?" Jace asked casually as he trailed after Clary, who held a wooden tray in one hand and was choosing a few of warm croissants from the rack using a pair of tongs in the other.

"I heard that the king before your father, Stephen Herondale, and his father before him, did not condone the act of people fighting in arenas for the sake of entertainment."

Clary paused, dropping the pair of tongs back where she originally took them, before heading to the counter to pay for the croissants. The woman at the counter curtsied as Clary approached her, addressing her as 'Your Highness', before packing the croissants Clary picked out in a brown paper bag.

"Thank you, your Highness," the woman thanked her profusely after the princess presented her with three gold shillings as a generous tip. Clary merely nodded and left the store gracefully, with Jace still tailing her.

As they exited the store, Clary reached her right hand into the brown paper bag and took out a croissant, handing it to Jace, who received it with a curious and stunned expression.

"Um, thanks," he said, arching his eyebrows, not expecting at all for the princess to treat him to something as lavish as a croissant. He was a lowly slave, after all—a renowned gladiator, yes, but a slave nonetheless.

"You're welcome," Clary simply replied before taking out her own croissant and nibbling into it.

He followed her patiently as she led them away from the busy crowd of market-goers, over to a bench by a water fountain, secluded from the rest of the market. It was a beautiful fountain, Jace thought. In the middle of it was an angel dressed in full armory, holding up a sword and a cup to the sky, rising from the water. 'The Mortal Instruments/Angel Raziel', the plaque read.

After a minute or two of companionable silence as the two ate their croissants, Clary finally answered Jace's earlier question. "The gladiator games have been going on here for about six years now. When I first moved here from Alicante—actually, where you were from—I was only ten years old, and they had just finished constructing the Arena Dumont. You see, my father loves the gladiator games. He always has, even back when we lived in Alicante, he has always been a big supporter of the games."

She took another bite of her croissant while Jace listened attentively, his own croissant long-finished. "I never liked the games, though. As a matter of fact, I hate it. I don't know what my father and everyone else sees in it. People getting butchered just for the sake of entertainment—that's just sick. It makes me really sick sometimes. I mean, how can you possibly take pleasure in someone else's pain and demise?" she said, her voice wavering at the end and her eyes tearing up a little.

"How do _you_ do it?" Clary asked suddenly, turning to Jace, her green eyes wide with innocence.

Baffled, Jace merely stared back at her, a tirade of emotions swimming in the pools of his golden orbs. Finally unable to withstand her expectant eyes, he averted his gaze, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I, it's just—it's—It's all I've ever known since—since I was a young boy," Jace stammered. He shut his eyes tightly, swallowing the pain he felt as he thought about the circumstances that led him to his current life.

"I was brought into this life without a choice. Sure, I used to feel disturbed by the idea of taking someone else's life into your own hands, but that's just the way it is—_Survival of the fittest. You either eat or you get eaten_. After a while, I just got used to it, I don't feel anything anymore when I fight, or when I kill. I'm just, numb to it, I guess," Jace replied, crinkling his forehead, his aureate eyes staring off into the far distance.

No one had ever asked him before what it was like to kill somebody else. And now that Jace thought of it, he felt cruel. He felt unbelievably cruel and inhumane. How _could_ he take someone's life away without a second thought, and without feeling remorseful about it after? And worse, how was he any better than Valentine in that sense? He was a monster, a cold-hearted monster. Just like the asshole that took his parents away from him.

_Shadowhunter! Shadowhunter!_

"Shadowhunter!" Clary's persistent voice knocked him out of his morbid epiphany. He blinked his eyes a couple of times before whipping his head around to meet Clary.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asked worriedly, her hand cupping Jace's cheek comfortingly, almost like a reflex action.

Jace's breath hitched at the contact. He felt like sparks of electricity were coursing through his veins from that single touch. And to make matters worse, he found himself welcoming it.

'_Her hands are so soft, like silk_,' he found himself unconsciously thinking. A smile ghosted his lips before he caught himself and abruptly turned away, his voice rough as he answered, "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry your pretty little redhead over it."

Clary frowned, her chest throbbing a little in hurt when the golden gladiator flinched away from her touch—as though it had burnt him. '_What was I thinking, touching him like that? He probably didn't like being touched by anyone.'_

But those sparks…she felt sparks when she touched him. Like static flowing through her body. '_Did he feel it too?'_

"Tell me about your father. How did he claim rule over Idris?" Jace interrogated her, his voice lined with a sudden dark emotion Clary could not comprehend.

Clearing her throat to get rid of the unexplainable disappointment she felt, Clary responded stonily, "My father was always the rightful heir to the throne of Idris. My grandfather, the late King Marcus, was tricked by his adopted son, Stephen Herondale."

At this, Jace found his chest pulsating with profound hatred and lust for revenge that only a couple of minutes ago lay dormant. His fists clenched tightly to the point where his nails were digging into his skin.

He wanted so much to scream at Clary for accusing his father of being a liar. And what was that rubbish she was spouting about his father being the king's adopted son? If so, wouldn't that make Valentine his adopted uncle? Just the thought of being related to that monster, blood or not, sickened Jace.

He wanted to stop Clary right then and there and set the facts straight, but at the same time, he was dying to know the fabricated tale Valentine told his daughter; so he bit his tongue and inhaled a deep breath as Clary continued.

"According to my father, Stephen was always jealous of him growing up. He always competed for attention with my grandparents, wanting to be their favorite child, and because he was so desperate to get the throne, he came up with a clever plot to frame my father and accused him of stealing the kingdom's funds to sponsor the gladiator games in Alicante."

She paused fleetingly. "But, _in actual fact_, Stephen was the one who stole the money in an attempt to woo the woman my father was in love with, Celine Montclaire," Clary scoffed, rolling her eyes disdainfully, as though disgusted with the mere idea of Jace's mother.

"Well, it certainly worked, because after that, Celine left my father to be with Stephen. And in the end, my father was humiliated, disowned by his own biological family while Stephen was announced the successor to the throne."

Jace clenched his fists even tighter, and his body shook from being barely able to contain his anger. '_How dare she? How dare she insult and condemn my parents? How dare she accuse my father of being a scheming thief and insinuate that my mother was nothing but a money-eyed skank?_'

"So after years of careful planning, my father rallied his allies in Alicante and launched an attack on Idris, killing Stephen and his wife for their betrayal and reclaiming his throne. Sure it was cruel, but I'd say it was poetic justice," she finished contemptuously.

Jace slammed the wooden bench with great force, shattering Clary's attention from the story she was recounting. He stood up brusquely, pacing back and forth in front of Clary like a caged animal, his rage clearly displayed from the way his facial features were contorted into a deep scowl and his muscles were tensed to the brink where Clary could see his veins bulging.

Bewildered by his sudden mood change, Clary stood up from the bench and attempted to comfort Jace when he whipped around dangerously and snarled in a low voice, "_Never, ever, say that about Stephen and Celine Herondale ever again." _

Clary winced, utterly taken aback by the harshness in Jace's tone. Seeing his golden eyes darkened to ochre with fury, all thoughts of comforting the gladiator vanished and she began to slowly cower away from him. But Jace wasn't having any of it; he only edged closer to her, oblivious to her discomfort, to her fear of him.

"Do you know who your father really is, _Your Highness_?" Jace spat venomously, his loathing eyes trained on Clary's. Clary shook her head helplessly, then, as if her knees could no longer hold her up, she collapsed against the bench, whimpering loudly.

"_No_?" Jace laughed mirthlessly. "Well, let me tell you about _your Father_, princess. He is nothing more than a _TRAITOR_—a _MURDERER_, and a _LIAR_!" he screamed, his face just an inch away from Clary's.

Tears began staining Clary's face. She was speechless—and utterly terrified of what Jace would do to her in his anger. He was a professional killer, after all. She wouldn't be surprised if he just lunged forward and strangled her or snapped her neck. He certainly had the brawn to do it. He admitted it himself that he felt numb towards the idea of killing. What was to stop him from killing her? And worse, she didn't even know why he was so mad at her. Wasn't it only a minute ago they were getting along just fine?

"And _you_—" Jace pointed a finger at her, swallowing deeply, and for a split second, Clary saw a flash of hurt and betrayal cross his features.

"You're nothing more than your father's little puppet! You're such a hypocrite! You say gladiators repulse you with their inability blink an eye and feel remorse when they kill another human being, and yet, you sit here and you applaud your father's crimes, calling it poetic justice! And to think that you were different, _I just_—"

Jace raised his hands unexpectedly, and Clary, thinking that he was about to hit her, reflexively moved both of her arms up to shield herself, sobbing loudly. At that, Jace sobered, breaking out of his angry haze. He ran his hands over his face and through his tousled hair, before squeezing his eyes shut tightly and slowly backed away from Clary. The girl remain frozen in her position on the bench, her body still shaking as more tears rolled down her delicate, porcelain face.

_'Way to go, Herondale. What the hell were you thinking? She hates you now, you know. She thought you were going to hit her. Way to earn her trust,' _his conscience chided him.

Jace wanted to kick himself in the gut—he had never felt more ashamed, and more disgusted at himself than he was now. His heart broke at the sight of Clary sobbing her eyes out, curling in on herself as though he was a predator and she the prey. He did this. He scared her. And it broke him. He had to fix this.

"I'm so sorry, Milady. I didn't mean to lose my temper at you. I don't know what came over me," Jace apologized quietly, his voice sincere and heavy with regret. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry," he said, kneeling down in front of Clary and cautiously taking her tiny, soft hands into his large, calloused ones and kissing them gently.

Clary's sobbing turned into quiet hiccups; her heart rate slowed down to normal upon feeling his soft lips against her skin, and she tilted Jace's chin up, asking him to meet her eyes. As green met gold, Clary saw in them that Jace truly didn't mean to scare her and was deeply sorry for his outburst.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Isabelle's distressed voice chimed in. "There you are, Clary! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Isabelle," Clary greeted her, hastily wiping at her eyes as discreetly as she could as the raven-haired beauty with dark brown eyes approached her at a hurried pace, her younger brother Max hot on her heels.

"Oh, Clary, are you okay?" Isabelle, her maid, asked her in a concerned tone. Then, upon noticing Clary's puffy, red eyes, Isabelle turned her gaze on Jace, shooting him a dagger look. "Did he do anything to you? Did the bastard hurt you?" she demanded, keeping her eyes trained on Jace.

Both Clary and Jace flinched at her vicious tone, and Clary was about to answer when Jace spoke up for her. "No, I didn't hurt her. We just had a misunderstanding, and I've already apologized to her," he said calmly.

Then, in a less serious voice, he added, "And for the record, my parents were married when they had me, so that makes me a very much legitimate child."

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly at Jace's unnecessarily added remark, Clary finally found her voice, "He's right, Iz. He didn't do anything to me. We're fine." Isabelle just raised an eyebrow skeptically, not believing the princess one bit as she continued glaring at Jace.

Turning to Jace, Clary touched his jaw lightly, "You're forgiven. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my leave."

Not giving Jace a chance to respond, Clary got up and motioned to Isabelle and Max to lead the way back to the palace.

"It was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Shadowhunter. And good luck for the games. If fate were so kind to the both of us, I'll expect to see you again in the near future. Farewell," she bid him, giving him a parting nod before trailing after her servants.

"Farewell, _Clary," _Jace whispered once she was out of earshot, liking how effortlessly her name rolled off his tongue_._

He watched as the beautiful princess sashayed away, leaving him to ponder over her words. '_Will I ever get to see her again? Will she ever get to talk to me again should our paths cross?_'

Jace didn't know. But one thing was for sure—

He certainly hoped they _would_ meet again soon.

* * *

**Sigh... I am mad that the line break doesn't work consistently for me, but anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!**

**Thoughts on Jace's meeting with Clary?:)**


	4. Chapter 3: Doubts and 'Acquaintances'

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hey, guys!;)

To start off, thank you to anyone who is reading, following, reviewing this story. Your support is deeply appreciated.

So, this is the third chapter; this is more of a filler—it basically follows Jace's thoughts about his meeting with Clary, and then later, you'll meet other character(s) when Jace reaches the Arena Dumont. p.s. I mostly referenced Dumont's appearance based on the Coliseum, but with its own TMI spin(?)

Anyway, please R&R!

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Doubts and 'Acquaintances'**

Silence hung in the air as Jace walked alongside Michael. Despite Michael's numerous attempts at starting a conversation, Jace couldn't bring himself to amuse him with anything more than monotonous one-word responses; he felt mentally incapacitated as his mind kept on subconsciously wandering back to his encounter with Clary at the market.

Jace frowned, the lines of confusion and bewilderment marring his beautiful features. He had never cared about girls before. So why did he now? What was it about Clary that made her so special, so intriguing to Jace?

Jace sighed, rubbing his temples in deep thought as Clary's face flashed through his mind.

He couldn't fathom it, but Clary was definitely different from any other girl Jace had ever chanced upon. For one, Clary didn't try too hard to get his attention, and if he was being honest with himself, Clary didn't even need to try—she had enraptured him from the moment he laid eyes on her.

In truth, Jace had never met anyone whose beauty radiated of purity and innocence like Clary's did. What she lacked in terms of height and curves, Clary made up for with her dazzling green eyes and luscious fiery-red curls. Vaguely, Jace wondered what it would feel like to comb his long, pianist fingers through those beautiful tresses of hers.

'_She's your sworn enemy's daughter. You promised to kill him. You promised to kill his family. And that includes her!_' the hate-filled monster in him goaded, instantly crushing him out of his dream-like trance.

Jace's jaw set and the semblance of a smile that graced his lips moments ago slipped away. On the contrary, maybe_, just maybe,_ the reason behind his lust for Clary was simply because she was the enemy's daughter. _Maybe_ he just desired a taste of the forbidden fruit. _After all, we always want what we can't have, right?_

The thought sickened Jace, and he sighed again, louder this time.

"You okay, Jace?" Michael asked, breaking him out of his inner turmoil.

"Fine. Just thinking about—stuff," he replied offhandedly, hoping Michael wouldn't prod him any further.

"How was the market?" his master asked.

"Fine, nothing much. When are we going to get to Dumont?" Jace asked indifferently, hoping to change the subject.

"Soon," Michael replied evenly as they continued to walk, the silence stretching over them again save for the steady crunching sounds their boots produced each time they made contact with the concrete ground.

Against his better lack of self-control, Jace found his mind flitting back to Clary. '_She's Valentine's daughter, she's Valentine's daughter, she's Valentine's daughter,'_ he forced himself to think.

But like most words that were often repeated in his childhood, the meaning of those three words—'She's Valentine's daughter'—became completely lost. They were just empty words. Meaningless words. '_So what if she is?' _he challenged.

_'NO, STOP IT! Don't distract yourself. Don't let her distract you from what really matters here—Valentine. It's always been about Valentine. It's always been about avenging your parents. Not Clary. This has never been about Clary. She's not important here. Forget her, Jace. She'll only ruin you,' _he chastised himself, feeling increasingly exasperated.

Jace wanted to pull out his hair. This was all turning into a conundrum. Maybe it would be easier for him to get over his 'infatuation' with Clary if he could just place his finger on what was it about her that drew him to her.

He pursed his lips together in deep thought. '_Hmm, let's see—' _Jace liked how Clary was so feisty, just like her red hair. She was witty, and spoke from her mind, like he did, and wasn't afraid to be blunt. But, _hell_, that almost got her into trouble earlier though.

Jace clamped his eyes shut tightly, shaking his head to get rid of the image of a sobbing Clary shielding herself from him in fear of him striking her. He felt extremely remorseful and embarrassed for his earlier outburst. What the hell had he been thinking, losing his temper like that?

Again, Jace couldn't help but compare himself to Valentine, the vile monster who had violated his mother and then murdered her in cold blood. In the heat of his ire, Jace had unwittingly turned into a shadow of Valentine—he had almost harmed a woman, and not just any woman, but Clary.

But then again, Jace had a reason to be mad at Clary, didn't he? She had, after all, insulted his parents. As far as Jace was concerned, nobody had the right to insult them, especially when they didn't know the real story and the truth behind how they were killed. Clary had only ever been fed lies by Valentine, and she had naïvely believed the man. Despite knowing that he shouldn't have taken Clary's words seriously, _—_since she obviously had no idea what she was talking about_—_they had still stung Jace deeply.

And then there was another thing that completely blew him up. One moment she'd made it perfectly clear that she hated the gladiator games because it represented the idea of people killing each other as a sport, which truly sickened her; and then in the next moment, she'd actually contradicted herself by supporting her father's actions of killing his parents. What the hell was wrong with her? Did she have some sort of split personality disorder or something?

And then, there were just so many 'and's—The fact that Clary had revealed that his parents and Valentine had had somewhat of a past together had definitely caused a stir in Jace_—_

His father and Valentine used to be adopted siblings? His mother was Valentine's ex-lover? What the hell was that all about? Was it possible that they were more connected to one another than he'd initially thought? Was it possible that his parents were really involved in all those treachery, in framing Valentine for a crime he might not have committed? That they had both been manipulative and desperate to gain the throne? In that case, wouldn't that make Clary right—that Stephen and Celine got what they deserve for betraying Valentine? And if that were so, where did it leave Jace? Would it be right if he were to reclaim his so-called birthright, something that was _never_ actually meant to be _his_?

_Or_ were all this new information more lies that Valentine had created to cover his tracks, to make him appear as a victim in his family's eyes?

_And then, —_What about Michael?

Michael was Stephen's former general, and a former citizen of Idris. Surely he would have known about all of this…mess. Jace could ask Michael, to clarify all of these unanswered questions. But then, if Michael did know, why didn't he say anything to Jace in the first place? He had the right to know. He had the right to know about his parents, and their history with Valentine, if they ever had one.

Michael knew that much—how much Jace resented Valentine, even if he had never told Michael what Valentine had really done to his parents. So what did that make Michael? Whose side was he on? And more importantly, whose side _is _he on now? Could Michael even be trusted? What if he had something planned with Valentine? What if they had agreed for Michael to train Jace as a gladiator, gain his trust, and when the time came, he would bring Jace back to Idris and lead him like a lamb to his slaughter?

It sounded like a terribly elaborate scheme, but Jace wouldn't put it past Valentine to come up with something as vile and manipulative as that. _Not _that Jace was being overly paranoid either_._

He groaned. So much for settling the unrest in his mind_—_Jace was even more discombobulated now. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

'_Damn it, Clary! Why'd you have to tell me all this shit and plant this seed of doubt in me? Why? I had a perfectly laid out plan, and I was ready to follow it through and execute it, and you just had to come along and ruin everything!_' Jace thought, raking his fingers through his already messy curls.

Somewhere in the cavernous depths of his mind, Jace knew that the reason Clary even told him that information was because he had asked her himself. '_Stupid! You couldn't have just walked away from her?'_

"There it is!" Michael exclaimed, pointing to the tall, sturdy structure that loomed ahead of them, instantly shattering Jace's reverie. His eyes snapped up and his breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Arena Dumont.

Heavily constructed from white concrete marble, the Arena Dumont resembled an impenetrable fortress.

_'Wow. No wonder it's called 'the arenas of all arenas','_ Jace gulped, feeling slightly intimidated by the majestic structure that towered over him.

It was huge—Astoundingly huge.

A soaring 200 feet high, Dumont was a monumental façade built in an elliptical shape, comprising of four stories of superimposed galleries capped by a podium allowing for an attic to stand, and on each level were windows that were scattered at a uniform distance away from one another.

Gracing the white marble stone of the structure were statues of avenging angels wielding weapons, and fine, intricate carvings of ancient runes of strength, agility and fearlessness that were believed to be symbols of power drawn by the gladiators when in battle. Just above the main entrance, was an engraving of the royal crest, —a falling star—an emblem belonging the ruling family of Idris, the Morgensterns.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Michael asked as they entered the arena, noticing that Jace's eyes were lit with a childlike enthusiasm.

His musings of Clary, Valentine, Michael and his parents chucked aside, Jace merely nodded, unable to form coherent words to describe the thoughts that were running through his head at the moment.

"Well, if we had time, we could have probably taken a little tour of the place. But as it is, we are already running late. They've been expecting our arrival at the gladiator barracks just behind the arena about 10 minutes ago, so we are going to have to forego our little 'field trip' of the place," Michael said, much to Jace's disappointment.

"We'll have time to look around once we've settled in, Jace. No need to look so disgruntled," Michael added, mocking Jace's sulky expression. '_For a badass gladiator, he could be such a four-year-old sometimes,' _Michael chuckled to himself as they silently navigated their way through the heavily lit tunnels underneath the arena to the gladiator barracks.

* * *

"Welcome to the gladiator barracks," a deep voice belonging to one of the two guards stationed at the entrance of the barracks greeted Jace and Michael as they exited the tunnels.

Michael nodded, smiling courteously at the bulky young man who was dressed in a plain bronze armor over a blood-red long-sleeved cotton shirt, a sword sheathed in a wooden scabbard dangling from the belt at his waist.

Allowing Michael to deal with the guard, Jace decided to take in his surroundings instead.

A large, lush-green field surrounded by evenly interspersed pillars to form the simulation of a battlefield lay spread out in front of them. Just beyond the training space, to the right, were the standard holding cells to accommodate the gladiators, and just across from it, Jace assumed, was the mess hall where the gladiators would gather for their meals.

"You may find the warden, Emil Pangborn, in the mess hall, together with the rest of the gladiators who are having their lunch," the guard pointed to the white, run-down 'building' —_if you could even call it that_—located at the far-left side of the field.

Michael nodded again gratefully and strode off briskly, Jace at his side. As Michael pushed open the wooden doors of the mess hall, Jace sucked in a breath.

In stark contrast to the grandeur of the Arena Dumont, the mess hall was a shambles, with wooden floors that were so moldy and dusty Jace wondered when was the last time someone had even bothered to mop it. The plaster walls, which had been painted white, were peeling and yellowing with age. The ceiling was lined with cracks and had cobwebs dangling from the edges. And to top it all off, a rustic, or more appropriately, rusty, Gothic chandelier with old French candles hung in the middle of the ceiling.

Not long after Jace and Michael had made their presence known, 30 pairs of curious eyes drifted over to meet them, and a tall, burly man with short-cropped black hair dressed in a white-collared cotton shirt and brown leather pants strode over to welcome the two newcomers.

"Good afternoon. My name is Emil Pangborn, and I am the warden here. I am in charge of all the guards as well as the gladiators here, overseeing their duties and training, and such," the man said in a blasé tone.

"Michael Wayland," Michael returned, shaking the man's hand civilly. "This is my gladiator, 'Shadowhunter'," he gestured to Jace, who nodded curtly in greeting, his expression guarded and aloof. It was agreed between both Jace and Michael, that for the sake of Jace's safety, his real identity would be kept anonymous and thus, he would only be known by his gladiator name, 'Shadowhunter'.

"Ah, Shadowhunter. So you're the one they've been talking about. It's an honor to finally have you here," Emil replied, attempting to sound sincere and interested in Jace.

"Nice to meet you," Jace said jadedly, not even bothering to look at Emil as he scanned the faces of the other gladiators who were, in turn, examining him peculiarly. "May I go join them?" Jace asked Michael, sparing his master a brief glance.

"Sure, I'll talk to you later," Michael answered with a nod.

Just as Jace was about to take a step forward, Michael gently tugged his elbow back and whispered knowingly, "Remember to play nice, Shadowhunter. Wouldn't want to make enemies on your first day here."

Jace pulled back, cocking an eyebrow while Michael simply winked at him. Twitching his lips into a half-smirk, his earlier doubts about Michael forgotten, Jace quipped, "No need to fret over me, Master. I'm always _nice_."

Michael watched as Jace sauntered away, shaking his head lightly at the boy. He can only hope Jace wouldn't stir up any disputes anytime soon—especially in the mess hall. It could get really…messy.

As Jace collected his lunch from the food station, his eyes landed on the youngest-looking group of gladiators seated at a table in the far right-hand corner of the room—there were eight of them, and out of all the gladiators in the room, they probably looked the most intimidating. _'Time to get acquainted with my new buddies,'_ Jace thought as he walked over to them in a coolheaded manner.

"Hello, there," Jace greeted cheerily, mustering his sardonic wit at the group of gladiators as he took a seat amongst them, a bowl of thick, lumpy broth in his hands. The group of men simply glared back at Jace, their expressions bitter and hostile as Jace began to dig into his food.

"You know, I have a strong feeling we're all going to be the best of friends," Jace said excitedly, deliberately showing off the contents of the half-chewed food in his mouth.

"Ooh, I know! How about a sleepover tonight? We could all hang out in my cell, paint each other's toenails and talk about all the cute, buff guards here—Maybe even give each other's makeovers! What do you say?" he prattled on incessantly, the chewed food in his mouth flying all over the table and incidentally landing on one of the gladiators' faces.

The young man with jet-black hair and cold blue eyes seated across from Jace—the victim of Jace's food spit, apparently—wiped his face disgustedly and slammed his fist against the table, rattling the utensils as he leaned forward towards him.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" he snarled in an acidic tone. "Just because you're the _oh-so-famous_ Shadowhunter, doesn't mean you get to throw your weight around here. In fact, I'd watch your back if I were you. You're the first one I'll kill tomorrow," he threatened.

Wiping an invisible tear from his eye theatrically, Jace feign-sobbed, "Why are you being so mean to me? I only want to make friends!"

In a puerile tantrum, Jace flung his spoon across the table and began to weep loudly, purposely attracting the attention of all the other gladiators in the room in an attempt to provoke a rise out of the other boy.

From afar, Michael stood next to Emil, pausing midway in their conversation to stare wide-eyed at Jace. '_The stupid boy's at it again,'_ he groaned, putting his hands in his face in disbelief. '_Just for once, just once. Why won't he listen to me?'_

The blue-eyed boy swung his fist forward, and Jace, having seen it coming, ducked out of the way before taking his own swing at the other boy. His fist connected with the boy's jaw hard and he flew off the bench and onto the floor.

"You son of a bitch!" the boy yelled savagely, springing onto his feet and charging towards Jace.

In a split second, both boys were on the ground, taking turns throwing swift kicks and punches at each other. Meanwhile, all the other gladiators just watched the scuffle in amusement, not bothering in the least bit to break up the fight.

A couple of bruises and a bloodied lip later, the two were finally disentangled from the other by a group of bulky guards.

"This isn't over yet! I'll still kick your ass, you bloody piece of shit!" the boy continued screaming, his body viciously struggling against the three pairs of hands that were restraining him from pouncing onto Jace.

Just across the room, Jace held himself together in a relaxed stance, his arms folded across his chest as he petulantly made faces at the other boy, infuriating him even further and causing his flailing to become more forceful. _'Ah, all in a day's work,'_ Jace smirked, satisfied with himself. As much as he was determined to kill Valentine, Jace enjoyed starting fights among his fellow gladiators. It was all about sizing up the competition, he often told himself.

Soon after, with the help of three other guards, the blue-eyed boy was escorted out of the room and into his cell, and with that, order was once again restored to the mess hall.

Jace, as punishment for inciting the display of unruly behavior, was forced to stay behind and help out with cleaning all the dishes and utensils once the rest of the gladiators were dismissed for their training —though Jace didn't really have much to complain about it.

As predicted, once Jace was let out for training, Michael intercepted him for a round of nagging, though Jace, being the insouciant person that he was, effortlessly tuned him out. Personally, Jace thought it was an awful waste of precious time that he could have spent training. And besides that, every lecture Michael gave Jace was basically a repetition of the same things like, "Jace, you need to stop being so reckless. It's really getting old," or, "Jace, I understand how hard it must be for you, but you really need to learn how to control yourself and refrain from making a scene…"

Jace scoffed_. 'As if.'_

Heading over to the field, Jace caught sight of the blue-eyed boy, a wooden blade in his hand as he sparred furiously with a brown-haired gladiator with tan olive skin. Unable to help himself, Jace leaned against one of the pillars at the far corner of the field to observe the boy's fighting skills and technique.

He was _good_, a fairly proficient fighter, Jace would admit—though his style was quite different from Jace's. While Jace was much more acrobatic and depended more on his agility to wear his opponent down, the boy relied more on his body strength, focusing on landing as direct, accurate and debilitating a blow as possible to end the fight quickly.

A few more traded blows later, the brown-haired boy was pinned to the ground while the blue-eyed one stood over him victoriously, holding the wooden knife to his opponent's throat. He smirked, and then as if sensing that he was being watched, his gaze shifted to meet Jace's, who grinned back at him smugly.

The boy's jaw set, then, just as he was about to lunge towards where Jace was standing, a couple of guards stepped forward to hold him back and dragged him across the opposite direction of the field, encouraging a string of curses to spew out from his mouth.

After that, the rest of the day went on uneventfully.

Taking into account the brawl that happened between Jace and the blue-eyed boy earlier that afternoon, Emil made sure that a handful of guards were positioned on all corners of the field to supervise the gladiators as they trained, and were ready to intervene if necessary.

Before long, Jace lost himself in training, managing to spar with a couple of the other gladiators who were more than willing to challenge the great Shadowhunter's skills. Jace, of course, let them put up a good fight, strategically wearing his opponents' down before finally breaking their momentum and besting them.

Jace didn't stop there. He was on a roll, and he made good use of the time he had to train with all the various weapons they gave him—swords, daggers, throwing spears, and even maces. He wanted to be ready, and he wanted to prove to the spectators, and Valentine, watching tomorrow that he was a top contender, and a force to be reckoned with. He was going to 'win them over'—as Michael had put it—and he was going to earn his redemption.

As the moon settled over in Idris and the gladiators turned into their cells for the night, Jace was still brimming with the adrenaline he'd acquired from training. He smiled as he recalled the productive training session he'd had today.

Lying on his back on the flimsy mattress in the confines of his cell, his hands tucked beneath his head as he looked up at the ceiling, he felt more confident about walking into the trial games tomorrow.

'_Watch out, Valentine. I'm coming for you. I'm ready for anything you throw at me,'_ he thought darkly.

_'You are my target, and I am the arrow that's ready to strike you down.'_

* * *

**OK, personally, as a reader, I criticize my own writing for this chapter, especially towards the end. Ugh, sorry if the flow is a bit jerky.**

**But, anyway, I hope that at least some of you liked this chapter... Review?**

**Some questions...**

1) What are your thoughts on Jace's thoughts? Is he being overly-paranoid?

2) Thoughts on Michael?

3) Who is this 'mysterious' blue-eyed boy?;)

**Stay tuned for the next chapter; I think it's quite obvious what's coming up next...**

**But just as a side note, I think my updating schedule for now will be between 3 days—1 week? I'm writing furiously every day for the remaining chapters before my school semester starts in about 2 weeks...so yeah.**

**XO! —N**


	5. Chapter 4: Trial Games & Announcements

**Author's Note/Disclaimer: (Please read A/N—IMPORTANT)**

Hi guys! Regardless of what I said the other day about the 3 days—1 week update, I decided to update this chapter early...because I realized I made a big mistake in chapter two, which I have already updated. Somewhere along that Clace scene, I accidentally made Clary call Jace by his name, when in actual fact, Jace hasn't told her his real name yet...so yeah, that's the big mistake there. Jace will only reveal his name to Clary in the later chapters...just not this soon. Until then, she should only be referring to him as 'Shadowhunter'.

But anyway, here is Chapter 4. I hope I didn't make any more mistakes...

R&R please!:)

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters;)

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Trial Games and Announcements**

"Gladiators, listen up!" Emil ordered as the warriors huddled up together behind the massive, iron-wrought gates that would, moments later, lead them into the arena, and onto the battlefield.

Jace bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as the intense rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins, his golden eyes blazing with focus and excitement.

"The layout of today's event is simple—You will _not _be fighting against each other. No, today it's going to be a full-out massacre where you will all be chained to the pillar in the middle of that arena, and you will be forced to fend off the attack from the Idrisian prisoners-of-war!" Emil barked at them, a malicious smirk spreading across his face. "Make it out of there alive and you'll qualify for the final gladiator games, and if you don't, then you unlucky sons of bitches are going to be dinner for the lions tonight, understood?!"

'_Now there's a lovely chap who obviously enjoys seeing people getting their blood spilled_,' Jace thought derisively.

"Any questions?" Emil's deep voice echoed off the walls as he inspected the gladiators, his hands clasped together behind his back in a firm stance.

The horn signaling the start of the games blared through Dumont, and as if on cue, the gates were raised.

Jace secured a helmet with a full visor on his head, and adjusted the dull, brown armor that he wore over his usual shirt and leather pants. Ignoring the violent drumming in his chest, Jace took in deep breaths to steel his nerves. _'I am ready, and I am fearless,'_ he chanted the words over and over in his head like a mantra.

Outside, the crowd was cheering wildly in anticipation of the gladiators to emerge into the arena, but in the heat of the moment, they were nothing but white noise to Jace. As he stepped out into the battlefield of the arena, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight, Jace could hear his pulse pounding in his eardrums.

Once all the competing gladiators had made it out onto the field, the guards came around and began chaining them up to the tall, huge pillar that was set up in the middle of the arena. Jace's right hand was shackled, leaving his left one free; luckily for him, he was left-handed.

He bent down, picking up the shield and sword that lay at his feet and began swinging the sword around in circles in his wrist, his eyes focused on the four entrances surrounding the arena that would later release the prisoners that they would be fighting against.

It was definitely going to go down like a massive cattle slaughter, his mind hummed noisily.

He looked up at the galleries of the arena, stupefied by the tens of thousands of people—no, probably closer to a hundred thousand people—that stood on their feet, cheering for the gladiators. His eyes darted to the balcony, where a dais was constructed for the royal family.

His eyes burned with rage as he saw Valentine—his hair as white as snow and his eyes still as black and demonic as ever—stood up from his seat, and raised his arms to greet the crowd and the gladiators. He was dressed sharply in an expensive-tailored royal blue velvet suit, and the royal crest hung from his neck in the form of a pendant. His face was as smug as ever.

Jace growled low in his throat. '_Your time will come soon,' _he promised.

"Welcome, people of Idris, and gladiators to the preliminary round of the gladiator games!" Valentine's thunderous voice boomed through the arena.

Jace scoffed, rolling his eyes indignantly. He couldn't give a damn about what Valentine had to say—not unless he was going to announce that he was going to throw himself at a pack of hungry lions. Other than that, nope, Jace didn't give a shit about what came out of his filthy, pretentious mouth.

His eyes scanned the dais, taking in the sight of the rest of the Morgenstern family. It came as a surprise to him that Valentine's wife wasn't amongst them—perhaps she was ill? He didn't know how she looked like, but he imagined her to be the splitting image of Clary since she bore no resemblance at all to Valentine—_thank God for that._ Jace didn't know if he could tolerate Clary if she looked anything at all like that demon.

Seated to Valentine's right was a young man, around Jace's age, who looked like a younger version of Valentine with his white-blonde hair and built figure, though he had green eyes and carried a playful smirk. He wore a white dress shirt that was tucked out of his dark blue trousers, and was noticeably joking with a person seated to his left—Clary.

Jace stifled a gasp at the sight of her. She looked like a Grecian goddess, in a one-shoulder ivory silk dress decorated with gold sequins, and a gold cinch belt around her tiny waist. Her auburn hair hung over her right shoulder in a French braid, and a simple, ivy-themed tiara graced her head.

She was laughing back at the young man, her brother; though Jace could tell that she wasn't comfortable with being at Dumont and having to watch the games. He could see it in the way she was fidgeting with her fingers and her eyes were darting around nervously. How he wish he could hold her hands in his, and gaze into her eyes, just to take away her anxiety. She shouldn't have been forced to be here if she didn't want to.

As if sensing Jace's stare, Clary's emerald eyes landed on Jace, and he barely suppressed a choke. Did she recognize him? No, she couldn't possibly have. Jace's helmet covered practically his entire face and even his hair. But then again, she must have since she looked more at ease, and she was even smiling lightly at him.

'_Nope, it's just a coincidence, Jace. Quit overthinking this.'_ Jace shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, now's not the time to be distracted by Clary. '_Focus. FOCUS.'_

Jace turned to the gladiator on his right, and to his astonishment, he was met with the sapphire-blue eyes of the boy he fought with yesterday. The boy stared back at him, his eyes burning with grudge and hate.

As Jace gazed deeply into his stormy blue eyes, all of a sudden, a faint recollection, a memory, about the boy flashed through his mind—no, not of their meeting yesterday, but of an old memory they had shared years ago, when Jace was only four years old.

Jace _knew_ him—He saw in his mind's eye as his four-year-old self tackled a slightly bigger, seven-year-old boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes to the ground, the two rolling over playfully with laughter. The boy was obviously stronger than Jace, but being the good sport that he was, he allowed Jace to pin him down and claim the victory in their staged fight, even congratulating Jace on his supposed success as he helped him up.

They had trained with each other everyday since then —until the day Valentine chose to attack Idris, of course. Jace remembered, how the last time he had seen the boy, he had been 11 and the latter 14; they had spent the rest of the afternoon underneath a big willow tree near Lake Lynn after their training, talking and laughing about random things, not having to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders. It was on that day that they had promised to become each other's '_parabatai_'—brothers-in-arms that would not only fight side by side in battle, but also willingly lay their lives down for each other.

Jace nearly laughed out loud at the memory. Why didn't he recognize him sooner?

"Alec?" Jace asked, startling the boy. His blue eyes softened a tad, before reclaiming their stormy gaze.

"How the hell do you know my name?" Alec demanded, pointing his sword to Jace's neck as if he was going to decapitate him.

"Alec, it's me! It's Jace!" he hissed.

Alec's blue eyes widened in shock; his mouth fell agape as he stared hard at Jace, though this time, it wasn't in hate, but in recognition. "Jace?" his voice softened. "Jace Herondale?"

"Shh, keep it down! They don't know I'm _me_," Jace whispered harshly as he leaned closer to Alec who continued staring at him, dumbfounded in shock.

"Honestly, Alec, I've said this before and I'll say it again—I know I'm stunning attractive but you don't have to stare at me. And keep your mouth shut; you're going to choke to death on flies instead of being killed by those prisoners! Really Alec, just imagine the epitaph on your gravestone: 'Alexander Gideon Lightwood, Gladiator of Idris, killed by common flies'," Jace quipped, rather inappropriately considering the compromising situation they were in.

"Oh shut up, Jace! I can't believe it's you! You bloody idiot and your big, cocky-ass mouth! Why didn't you say something earlier?" Alec snapped, though Jace could hear the faint happiness and relief in his voice at being reunited with his long-lost playmate, or rather, his childhood best friend.

"Well, I didn't have the chance to really look at you given you were busy trying to throw a punch in my face back at the mess hall. And let's be honest—the last time I saw you was eight years ago," Jace replied smoothly.

A second horn blew, prompting the gates of the four entrances to be raised. Jace looked up at the dais, noticing that Valentine had already finished his speech and was seated again beside his children. "Let the games begin!" he announced, leaning forward in his seat, watching the arena anticipatively.

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps of the prisoners running into the arena like a stampede. Jace's grip on his sword tightened, earlier jokes with Alec set aside.

"Alec, we are all going to have to stay together and watch each other's backs if we want to live," Jace said, meeting Alec's eyes firmly. Alec nodded, lightly tapping the blade of his own sword against Jace's in silent agreement.

Some forty men dressed in prisoner uniforms emerged, ten from each of the four entrances, wielding throwing spears and swords in their hands; it was no surprise that the gladiators were outnumbered by at least ten people. The Idrisian prisoners charged towards the middle of the arena where the gladiators were chained, their faces hard and unwavering.

As they got closer, Jace snapped into commander-mode, yelling out directions to the rest of the gladiators to huddle into close formation and to raise their shields in a defense position just as the prisoners hurled their spears towards them.

The spears landed everywhere—on the sandy ground of the arena, spiking some of the gladiators' shields, sticking out of the pillar, and even impaling four of the gladiators. With their throwing spears exhausted, the prisoners barreled towards the gladiators, brandishing their swords wildly in the air, while the gladiators stood their ground, readying for the attack.

And then the real fight began.

As swords clashed against one another, cries and yells rang out as the arena began to stain with blood.

Jace and Alec stood back-to-back to each other, easily working together as a duo, as they dodged the blows of their assailants and struck them down to their deaths.

It was easy, really, for Jace. His sword was like an extension of his own arm, and being absorbed in the high of the battle, his movements were fast yet controlled, fluid and smooth. And Alec was just as good as Jace was; he was poised and measured, channeling his aggression in each hit.

The Idrisian prisoners were only fairly skilled; they were not as graceful and their attacks were wild and careless. They gave too many openings, making it easy for both Jace and Alec to gain the upper hand. Not to mention, with both their skills combined, Jace and Alec was an unstoppable powerhouse, efficiently dominating the battlefield of their lesser opponents. They gave their rivals no opportunities to regroup, immediately diving for the kill once they were within their perimeter.

On the balcony, Clary sat stiffly, holding her breath and digging her nails into her brother's arm as she watched the bloodbath unravel in the arena. Her emerald eyes followed the tan, lean gladiator with the full-visor helmet intently as he moved in an elegant dance against his rivals. Clary was certain, despite not having seen his face, that the gladiator was the one she'd met at the market yesterday—'_Shadowhunter_', as he had introduced himself.

Clary had always resented watching these gladiators killing one another, but for once, she found herself silently rooting for _him. _She watched, entranced, as he tirelessly deflected attack after attack from the prisoners who charged at him, striking them in their midsections and slashing their necks decisively.

She let out a sharp gasp, fighting the bile from rising in her throat as one of the prisoners came close to piercing him in his chest, and he gracefully leaped back, the sword only merely grazing his armor. He flipped forward, over his opponent and just as he landed, he swiftly slew the man's head off.

As the man's decapitated form fell to the ground, Jace's eyes alerted him to Alec's current predicament—he was backed up against the pillar, his sword lay abandoned on the ground a few feet away from him, as three other prisoners cornered him.

Reacting purely on instinct, Jace sprinted towards his _parabatai_ with lightning speed. He jumped forward and rebounded off the pillar, releasing a spear that had been earlier stuck to the pillar on one of the prisoners, landing it in his chest. With the ferocity of a lion, he knocked down another prisoner to the ground, rolling on top of him before ramming his sword in his throat, spraying blood onto his helmet.

With the odds even, Alec promptly wrapped the long chains on his hand around the remaining prisoner's neck. He jumped onto latter's back, putting his full weight on him as he trapped him in a vicious headlock, effectively cutting off the supply of oxygen to his lungs and incapacitating him. With a swift flick of his wrist, he snapped the already immobilized prisoner's neck, grinning as his victim's body collapsed.

Before long, the number of Idrisian prisoners began to dwindle drastically, and the remaining gladiators—about 13 of them—stood tall against four of the surviving prisoners. With them being vastly outnumbered, the prisoners decided it was pointless to attack, and chose to drop their swords and raise their hands in surrender instead.

Jace and Alec turned to each other at the same time, grinning devilishly at their success as the final horn blew to announce the conclusion of the match.

Valentine rose from his seat, his arms raised as the spectators roared in applause for the gladiators. The entrances were lifted open again and guards appeared, stalking towards the remaining gladiators and prisoners.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the gladiators of the final gladiator games!" Valentine proclaimed, his grin large on his arrogant face, as the cheering intensified.

"My gladiators, I congratulate you on your valiant efforts of defeating the Idrisian prisoners-of-war. It is with great pleasure for me to formally extend my invitation to you to grace the final games with the display of your impressive skills of combat, like the true warriors that you are," Valentine continued, smiling proudly at the gladiators, as though they were his offspring.

Jace scoffed, '_Hypocrite.'_ Jace knew better, and he knew that Valentine was a false and pretentious man, a deceiver. He was obviously sucking up to the crowd, manipulating them into thinking that he cared for the gladiators.

Beside him, Alec was rolling his eyes at Valentine. "_'It is with great pleasure for me to formally extend my invitation to you…'"_ Alec said in a mocking voice, causing Jace to chuckle lightly.

"Well, he has our invitation…to kiss our asses," Jace muttered, clapping a hand on Alec's shoulder while Alec winked at him in return.

With the chaos over, the guards moved forward to unchain the remaining gladiators from the pillar, stripping them of their weapons at the same time, while the other four prisoners were led back to their cells.

With his hands now free of the chains, Jace trudged towards the entrance they came in to return to the barracks, Alec following closely behind him. He spared a final glance up at the dais at Clary, and saw the beautiful princess eyeing him, her face slightly paler than it originally was and her hand clutched her brother's tightly like a lifeline. She smiled nervously at Jace, and he nodded imperceptibly at her in return.

Did she really recognize him? Even with the helmet on?

Choosing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach at that thought, Jace walked briskly to the entrance, away from the crowd, away from Valentine, and away from Clary.

* * *

"Well, that was certainly a good show we put up there," Alec said as they dug into their dinner. Warm bread with chicken soup and wine were served that night, as celebration of the gladiators qualifying into the final games.

"Yeah, it certainly was. I mean, come on, with my amazing skills, why wouldn't it be?" Jace chuckled, bumping shoulders with Alec who sat on his left.

"Wow, since when did you two become so chummy-chummy?" the olive-skinned boy, Jordan, asked, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"Yeah, just yesterday you two were at each other's throats like sworn enemies," Will, a dark-haired boy with blue eyes added.

Jace and Alec shared a secret glance, smirking lightly. "Well, let's just say, in the heat of the battle, we decided to set our differences aside and unite against the common enemy," Jace said, while Alec laughed in agreement.

It was turning into quite a pleasant dinner, and this time around, Jace had actually managed to stay civil enough to make friends amongst the group. Their manly egos aside, the rest of the young gladiators were actually nice people to be around, Jace thought. Despite their bumpy start, they had agreed to put the past behind them and were beginning to make Jace feel welcome, as though he belonged with the rest of them.

Emil clapped his hands twice, and the gladiators paused their conversation to look up at their warden. "Evening, gladiators. Hope you're enjoying your dinner so far," he said, standing in the center of the mess hall.

"Now, as you all know, the games are three months away from today. So until the big day comes, you will all be expected to be present for training everyday. And not only that, you will also be expected to report for your nightly slave duties, which will be delegated to you shortly," Emil finished, glancing at a clipboard.

Jace nearly groaned. Slave duties? As far as Jace knew, he never had to perform slave duties before. What the hell were slave duties like anyway? Heaven forbid Jace had to be assigned to kitchen duties or laundry work. He shivered at the thought of being reduced to mundane womanly tasks. That would not be good for his delicate ego, especially if he were to be forced to wear a pink, frilly apron!

"Shadowhunter," Emil called. Jace snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Emil steadily. "You will report at the stables on the palace grounds of Idris and assist in managing the royal horses starting from tomorrow night onwards at eight. A servant boy, Simon Lewis, will be there to walk you through your duties and he will be held accountable for you, understood?"

Jace nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. At least he liked horses. '_It couldn't be that bad_,' Jace thought.

"Well, have fun cleaning up manure, Jace," Alec whispered, jabbing his elbow in Jace's ribs playfully.

Jace paled slightly. "What? You mean I have to clear stinky horse poop?"

Alec smiled deviously, enjoying his best friend's discomfort.

"What the hell are your duties then?" Jace demanded, narrowing his eyes at Alec resentfully.

"Well, unlike _you_, I'm assistant to the royal physician, Magnus Bane. My duties are simple—running errands, and making sure the doctor's supplies are always in stock, you know, basically anything that does not involve animal dung," Alec said smugly, causing Jace to scowl enviously in return.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, letting slip a few choice curse words at his predicament.

When all of this was over, Jace was going to make sure he smothered Valentine's face with stinky horse poop.

* * *

**What do you guys think of this chapter? I hope the fight scene is good enough? I don't really know how to make the fighting that descriptive, so let's just leave it at that. Apologies if there are some grammar errors.**

**Anyway, please review! I'm dying to know what you guys think so far...good/bad I don't mind...**

** I know the plot is going quite slowly but the pace will pick up a little in a few more chapters. The story will center on Clace soon cos as much as this is about Jace's journey to get revenge on Valentine, the big plot here is mostly CLACE. **

**So, next update, for real this time, unless I spot a major mistake, will be in at least three days.**

**XO! ~N**


	6. Chapter 5: Duties and Dilemmas

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hello, guys! ;)

Again, thank you to all who are reading my story and have followed/favorited/reviewed. I really appreciate all the support so far!

Ok, so this is chapter 5; it's more of a filler, and it takes place a day after the trial games when Jace has to report for his slave duties at the stables. And in case you guys are wondering about the character's ages, here's an overview:

Jace: 19

Clary: 15 turning 16

Alec/Jonathan: 22

Isabelle: 17

Michael/Valentine: (in their mid-thirties? I didn't think their ages really mattered)

Oh, and uh, one more thing... I'm not really sure about the era/time setting of this story, but I'm thinking it's somewhere between the late 1500s to early 1600s, so yeah.

Please R&R!

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Duties and Dilemmas**

"Here we are," Michael said as they stopped outside the royal stables.

Jace glanced up, taking in the appearance of the stables. It still looked the same as when his father had it remodeled, with its crystal domed-roof and serpentine marble walls, decorated with engravings of intricate crisscross-shaped patterns. Inside the stables were 20 separate stalls made out of a combination of heart pine and steel to house exactly 20 horses, as well as a tack-room and a grooming area for the horses.

Jace sighed, folding his arms across his chest defiantly.

"I still don't get why I have to do slave duties," Jace complained. "What if I run into Valentine?"

"Well, Jace, this is Idris, so gladiator or not, you are expected to pull your own weight and do your fair share of work around here," Michael replied patiently. "And as for Valentine, you needn't worry about bumping into him. I'm quite certain he's rather preoccupied with his duties of running the kingdom to be checking up on slaves. So unless you do something reckless to attract his attention, you should be able to make it out of here every night unscathed."

"Still—"

"Enough, _Shadowhunter._ I do not wish to hear any more of your protests. Go report to the servant, Simon Lewis. I will be back for you at midnight to take you back to the cells," Michael interrupted firmly.

Jace sighed dramatically, stomping into the stables as Michael took off to tend to his own affairs.

A lanky, weasel-like teenage boy with brown curly hair and geeky spectacles emerged from one of the horses' stalls, a towel wrapped around his neck. He approached Jace cautiously, his brown eyes glazed over with a look Jace recognized to be fear—probably due to the sight of Jace's intimidating figure.

"Uh, hi, I'm Simon Lewis. You must be the gladiator I'm supposed to be in charge of," he said weakly.

"Yes, that's me. They call me Shadowhunter," Jace said tersely, his amber eyes glaring at Simon.

Simon gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably.

"Why, Simon? Are you afraid of me?" Jace jibed in a sharp tone as he strode up to the boy, his face hovering only a few centimeters away from Simon's.

Simon scrambled back hurriedly, tripping over a bucket in the process and landing on his butt on the concrete-tiled floor of the stables awkwardly. Jace laughed haughtily. This was going to be more fun than he'd initially thought.

"No, not scared. I'm just, uh, flustered—and um, a little jumpy—that's all," Simon replied squeakily, reminding Jace of a rat.

"Whatever you say, Lewis," Jace said as he picked at a loose thread on his shirt nonchalantly. "So, what do I have to do?"

Picking himself up off the floor and making sure to keep a safe distance away from the gladiator, Simon replied, "Uh, nothing much. Just make sure all the stables are clean, the horses are well brushed and fed and so on. It's simple, really."

Jace nodded, purposely making Simon uneasy by glaring at him. Just as Jace was about to open his mouth to poke more fun at the boy, a familiar melodic voice chimed in.

"Simon!" Clary called in a cheerful tone as she raced carelessly into the stables, flinging herself at the rat-boy. Simon caught her clumsily, hugging her to his chest.

"Hey, Clary," he replied, sounding more comfortable and casual this time.

"Oh, I've missed you so much, Simon. I'm so sorry I haven't seen you in a while. My father's been completely overbearing lately, making me sit through a bunch of boring etiquette lessons and whatnot," Clary groaned, tightening her embrace around Simon.

Jace felt suffocated all of a sudden. He turned away, scowling at the scene. For some reason, he felt irked. It just didn't feel right, watching them hold each other with that much affection. And Simon—Jace didn't like how Simon was looking at Clary like _that_, much less him touching her_._ It was so obvious that he was infatuated with Clary. But then again, who wouldn't be smitten by Clary? She was beautiful and kind and _perfect_ in every other way.

Jace hated to admit it, but the feelings that were boiling inside of him felt strange, and unfamiliar.

Pulling back, Clary rolled her eyes irritably. "I swear, Simon, he's trying to rule my life. He keeps going on and on with, 'Clarissa, you need to learn to be a proper lady. How do you expect a man to want you as his wife if you're constantly running around like a child, making a fool out of yourself?' Ugh, seriously, Simon, I need you to save me from him. I was this close from poking my eyes out with a fork at the dining table just now," she finished, pinching the air between her forefinger and thumb.

Jace chortled with laughter, instantaneously directing the attention of the two friends over to him.

Clary inhaled sharply at the sight of him. She hadn't expected _her_ gladiator to be standing in the stables—_here._

"Oh, I'm sorry. Don't let me interrupt this _romantic_ reunion. Carry on! I just couldn't help but feel amused by your, um, 'request' of asking him to save you from your father. Yeah, he certainly looks capable of holding his own in a fight with his gangly frame," Jace said cynically.

Simon looked down at his feet, blushing furiously. "I, uh, I better go, Clary. I'll see you again, soon," Simon said, scurrying off before Clary could even protest.

Clary huffed at Jace in chagrin. "Look at what you've done! You've scared him off. You know, just because you have muscles, it doesn't give you the right to make fun of Simon!" Clary retorted in her friend's defense.

"Oh, no? Forgive me, Milady. I would have guessed that after my amazing display of fighting skills yesterday, I'd have already earned my bragging rights—And by the way, just out of pure _curiosity_, do you always throw yourself at your servants like that?" Jace asked, attempting to sound standoffish as he strolled towards one of the horses' stall. He stifled a gasp as he came face-to-face with a very familiar brown steed—Wayfarer; he had been Jace's horse, a gift from his father when he was four.

Clary narrowed her eyes as he turned his back on her. _How rude._ "Not that that's any of your business, but Simon just so happens to be my best friend, therefore, I have every right to hug him. _And_—Ugh, what are _you_ doing here anyway?" she managed in an exasperated tone.

Jace chuckled as Wayfarer nuzzled his head against his neck, letting out an affable neigh. "Haven't you been informed, Milady? Apparently, I've been assigned to mind the stables here every night," Jace answered easily, his honey eyes trained on the horse.

"That's my horse, Wayfarer," Clary said, eyeing Jace curiously. Wayfarer had never been particularly docile when it came to strangers, but oddly enough, he was taking to the golden gladiator pretty well. In fact, he was being more affectionate to _him_ than he had ever been with her.

She cocked her head to the side, observing the gladiator with a queer look as he brushed Wayfarer's mane, a tender look in his eyes. Without looking up, Jace drawled, "You know it's quite rude to stare. I would have expected someone of royalty like you to know some manners."

Clary blinked. "Well, pardon me, _kind sir_ for upsetting you with my staring," she retorted sarcastically, causing the corners of Jace's lips to twitch upwards in a small smirk.

Turning to her, he waved his hand flippantly before returning, "Apology accepted, your Highness." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "May I ask why were you staring at me? Apart from my charmingly good looks, of course."

Clary rolled her eyes before turning her expression serious. "It's just—I-um, I-uh" she stammered, not sure how to get her words out. She scratched the back of her neck, knitting her brows together nervously.

Meanwhile, Jace just stood there staring back at her, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. "It's just that I never thought someone like you could ever be so kind to animals," she let out hurriedly, avoiding the gladiator's golden eyes.

A grim look passed over Jace's face. "Someone like me? What do you mean by that? _'Someone like you_'?" he questioned darkly.

Clary kept quiet, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden shift in mood, and chose to focus her eyes on the grout lines of the concrete-tiled floor instead. Then as if he caught on, Jace lowered his voice in a snarl.

"You mean a killer? Sounds awfully judgmental, don't you think? Sorry to disappoint your expectations, Princess, but apparently, killers can be compassionate and loving towards animals," he gritted out in between clenched teeth.

He paused, his tone suddenly sad as he said, "You know you're an awful lot like your father. You treat us gladiators like we're toys, as though we are incapable of feeling things."

At that, Clary snapped her head up, her gaze hot and burning on Jace. "I am _nothing_ like my father," she clipped angrily, fisting the sides of her gown.

"How the hell would you even know how my father is anyway? You don't know anything! And to reiterate my previous statement, in case you didn't manage to absorb anything in that infuriatingly large, pompous, egotistical head of yours, I am nothing like my father!"

Jace smirked in return, annoying Clary even more. '_Man, that redhead is so hot when she's mad_.'

"Well, that makes sense. Now that I think of it, you're right. You're nothing at all like your father," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Unless, of course, he is into cross-dressing, is short like a midget and has your crazy red hair. Though, if he were, I wouldn't imagine your father looking anywhere near as beautiful as you are!" he simply laughed.

Clary flushed, taken aback by his comeback. That wasn't what she was expecting at all. But as she was learning, with the golden-haired gladiator, she really shouldn't be so surprised at all. The boy probably has bipolar disorder by how quickly his mood changes. Ugh, she didn't know whether to take his statement as a compliment or an insult.

Before Clary could even think of anything else to say, she heard her brother's voice calling out for her.

"Clary! Clare-bear!"

Clary's eyes softened considerably and a genuine smile slowly crept onto her face. She loved her brother. Despite him being the exact carbon copy of their father, —except for his eyes—Jonathan was nothing at all like Valentine in terms of his character and personality.

While Valentine was cold and austere, Jonathan was the exact opposite, always easygoing and cracking jokes in the oddest of times it often ticked their father off. Despite his inane wit, Jonathan was a protective older brother; he was always looking out for Clary, even as a toddler.

As much as a buffoon he was, Clary was grateful for Jonathan. If she were the only child, she would have probably run away or committed suicide by now with how stiff and uptight her father and his politics were—and not to mention, his disgusting obsession with the gladiator games. Amidst all the chaos that was her father, Jon was, ironically, the glue that held her together, though his level of maturity was still questionable for Clary.

She turned in the direction of her brother's voice, Jace forgotten, as her brother slowly came into view, a spring in his gait and a playful grin etched onto his sharp, angular face. "Little sister! There you are Clare-bear!"

Hugging Clary briefly, Jonathan said, "Father has summoned your presence in the throne room. He needs to speak with you immediately on some 'very pressing matters that cannot be put off any longer'," he imitated his father's deep voice, causing Clary to chuckle, before frowning a little.

"What does he want to talk about?" she enquired, her green eyes gleaming wide and innocent like a child's.

Jonathan shrugged, "Don't know. Didn't bother to ask him. Come on!" He tugged her right arm, his face nonchalant and carefree.

"I don't want to go!" Clary whined, pouting her lips a little as she gave Jonathan a puppy face. Jace smiled at Clary's uncharacteristic princess behavior.

"Ugh, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, you move your cute, little derrière right now! I do not approve of this child-like behavior. You are almost 16 years old and I expect you to observe the attitude of a proper lady!" Jonathan admonished jokingly, waggling his finger in Clary's face as the redheaded princess pouted further and crossed her arms indignantly, stomping her right foot a little.

Jace watched the entire sibling banter with undisguised humor, leaning his back against Wayfarer's side, sniggering lightly at them. He had never had the opportunity of having any siblings, so watching Clary and her brother was nothing short of interesting to him.

His green eyes sparkling with mischief, Jonathan reached forward and grabbed at Clary's sides, tickling his sister viciously as she broke out into peals of high-pitched laughter. "Jon! Please! Stop!" Clary screeched, tears spilling over her cheeks, as Jonathan himself started chuckling.

Jace felt his heart flutter at the sound of Clary's laugh. It was adorable, just like her. If only he could make her laugh like that. He smiled dreamily, then mentally slapped himself. '_Christ, Herondale, you're turning into a big softie!'_

After some time, the white-blonde prince finally relented with Clary's pleading, then, as if only now realizing they had an audience, Jonathan swiveled round to face Jace. "Oh, hello, didn't see you there earlier. I'm Jonathan," he introduced himself casually before stepping towards Jace and offering his hand. Stunned, Jace stood unmoving for a brief moment before reciprocating the gesture with a firm handshake.

Staring at Jace expectantly, Jonathan asked, "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

Immediately, Jace's mind flashed back to when he first met Clary in the market in front of _Taki's_, and how she had asked him the exact same question.

"Shadowhunter," Jace simply replied, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Ah, I've heard of you. The youngest and most promising gladiator of our generation," Jonathan smiled, clapping a hand on Jace's shoulder. "Nice to meet you. I hope my sister hasn't been bothering you from your duties."

Lowering his voice to a whisper that was still audible to Clary, Jonathan said teasingly, "She can be a real annoyance sometimes. I should know; I've been stuck with her for nearly 16 years. Ever since she learnt how to talk, all she's done is badger me incessantly."

Jonathan sighed dramatically as Clary crept up behind him and smacked him playfully on the back of his head with a loud thwack.

"Ow! Where is the love, little sister?" Jonathan pouted, rubbing his head.

"Oh, suck it up, you big baby," Clary stuck her tongue out at him.

Jonathan tut-tutted as Clary turned to Jace. "See you around, _Shadowhunter_," Clary said in an annoyed tone, then grabbed Jonathan by his ear, dragging him off roughly as she made her exit.

And for the second time in the last three days, Jace found himself secretly hoping to see the princess again soon.

* * *

"How was horse poop duty, Jace?" Alec teased casually as the two friends sparred against each other during training.

Alec lunged forward, aiming his wooden sword at Jace's torso while Jace neatly sidestepped out of the way. Jace feigned a low blow and leaped forward, suspending himself in the air for a few seconds before colliding into Alec, disarming him as he pinned him to the ground.

His sword to Alec's neck, Jace smirked, "I believe that's the third time I've killed you this afternoon, Alexander."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Jace, just don't let it go to your fat head. Besides, the sun was getting into my eyes and I couldn't see properly."

"Do I detect a sore loser, Alec? It's very unbecoming of you, giving me all these poor excuses," Jace quipped as he pulled Alec up to his feet. "And to answer your question, I had _fun_ shoveling manure. In fact, it was so _refreshing_ I could have sworn it was like a day at the spa. Do you notice anything different about me? I, for one, think my hair looks exceptionally shinier when I woke up this morning!" Jace said in mock-enthusiasm.

Making their way to the far end corner of the field, they plopped themselves down onto the grass, leaning their backs against the cool stone of the pillar there. "Have you by any chance met any of the royal family?" Alec asked, his face suddenly serious.

Jace stared at Alec's face briefly, trying to decipher the reason behind his question. "I have. Why?"

"Nothing," Alec said, looking down at his palms. Jace elbowed Alec lightly in the ribs, wordlessly asking him to elaborate. "I was just curious. Nothing more."

Jace raised his eyebrow dubiously. "You really expect me to believe that?"

Alec sighed. "I really don't know what you think you're supposed to believe, Jace. It was a simple question; let's just leave it at that."

"Well, in all fairness, I've only met the princess, Clary, and her brother, Jonathan. I still have yet to make my mind up about them but so far they've been nice," Jace said evenly, his mind absently straying to Clary.

Without thinking, Jace added, "From what I've seen, Jonathan's an idiot, but a good idiot anyway. He takes care of his sister and he's nowhere near cold or is an asshole like Valentine."

He smiled, his amber eyes softening like melted honey. "And Clary—you know the first time I met her, in the market when I arrived in Idris, she treated me like an equal. She bought me food from the bakery, she let me sit next to her and just talk to her. And then, when I got mad at her and I almost lost it, she just forgave me."

Jace laughed, almost to himself. "Clary's really frustrating, confusing, and unbelievably naïve…but she's definitely something of her own. I mean, I don't think I've ever met anyone as humble, modest, or as genuine as she is."

He looked at Alec, his face barely masking his internal conflict. "It's hard to believe that Valentine's her father. She may have horrible excuse of a man as a parent but I don't think Valentine's succeeded in tainting her. I don't think he _ever_ will," Jace's voice lowered to an almost wistful whisper.

Alec took on an unreadable expression. After a few minutes of silence, Alec sighed, almost wearily.

"Just be careful around them, Jace. As a matter of fact, I think it'd be best if you avoid them as much as possible. They're Valentine's children, they're probably as manipulative and deceitful as he is," Alec said dryly. "Nothing good will ever come out of a relationship with the Morgensterns."

He paused, eyeing Jace with an undecipherable look. "You don't happen to have romantic feelings for this _Clary, _do you?" Alec asked, his tone spiteful at the mention of Clary's name. "I mean the way you talk about her, it's like—"

"Not that it should be any of your concern, but _no, I don't_," Jace clipped, feeling his protective instincts flare up at Alec's comment.

Jace leveled Alec with a cold look. "You weren't there when Valentine killed my parents that night, Alec. You don't know the horrible things he'd done to them, to my mother. Do you really think I'd want to associate myself with Valentine's little _spawn?" _he spat bitterly, causing Alec to flinch.

Jace got onto his feet hastily, and without waiting for Alec, he headed towards his prison cell.

Alec was killing his mood, and he didn't want to be around him. Not if he was hell-bent on convincing him that Clary was bad for him when in truth, Jace was still unsure about his feelings about _her_.

But Alec did have a point, though. How sure was he that he could he trust Clary?

_'She's a Morgenstern, and Morgensterns are liars. When it comes down to blood, whose side do you think she'll stand on? Her father's brainwashed her into hating the Herondales—if she finds out who you really are, what's to stop her from turning you in? What's to stop her from turning against you?' _

Jace yelled out in frustration, burying his face in his hands. He bent down, tugging at his curls roughly. He clenched his left fist tightly, and without warning, he punched the wall hard, busting his knuckles.

"_Fuck!"_ Jace gritted out, biting his lip as a fresh wave of pain came over him. He lifted his bloodied fist and scowled at it. As the pain seeped in, realization dawned on him—

Clary's the reason he'd hurt himself.

And why was he letting that happen? He'd only known her for four days, and besides, she was just a girl, _the enemy's daughter._ There could be no future with the two of them in it together. Why can't he just accept that and save himself from this entire quandary that was clearly beginning to destroy everything he had once held certain?

He was done with this. He was beyond ready to move past this senseless, dimwitted phase and focus on everything he had built himself up for. So that just leaves one thing—cutting out Clary, from his life, from his mind, for good.

_'This settles it. No more Clary. No more pining over a Morgenstern girl. No more Clary,' _he thought resolutely.

* * *

**'No more Clary'?:(**

**Yes, Jace, you keep telling yourself that...**

**Thoughts?;)**

**I think it's necessary for Jace to be in a confused state right now..****.**

******For now, please review!:)**

**And I'll update the next chapter as soon as I can... am working on the later-later chapters now...**

**XO!~N**


	7. Chapter 6: A Weakening Resolve

**Author's Note/Disclaimer:**

Hi, guys!:)

As always, thank you to everyone who is reading my story, especially those who have followed/favorited/reviewed:)

OK, so here's chapter 6! This is a relatively short chapter, and is more of a filler. But it's a Clace scene!;) So hope you guys enjoy it!

Please R&R!

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 6: A Weakening Resolve**

Jace scrunched his nose up in disgust as he shoveled pile after pile of horse manure from the stalls. The reek was dreadful; Jace fought the urge to throw up as the stench filled his nostrils and infiltrated his olfactory system.

It had been nearly a week since Jace started his nightly duties at the stables and so far, he hadn't seen the Clary at all. After his little spat with Alec, Jace had felt guilty for letting his confounded feelings over a girl get in the way of their long-forged friendship and they had both decided to reconcile amicably.

And as for Jace's lack of encounters with Clary, it had been both a relief and a distress for him; the less he saw of Clary, the easier it was to ignore the burning feelings he had for her. Yet, in the days that he had spent in her absence, he felt a missing spark in him. Jace hated admitting it but he missed Clary. He missed her innocent green eyes and her flaming red hair. He missed her smile, her laugh, and hell, he even missed bickering with her.

'_It's for the best, Jace. Maybe now you can finally get back to the task at hand, do what you've always planned from the start,_' his father's voice suddenly interjected in his head.

'_Huh, spiritual intervention, much?' _Jace thought, shaking his head. Lately, he had been having far too many third-person conversations with himself and it was beginning to drive him slightly over the edge.

"Hey," her meek voice greeted him.

Jace started, almost tripping over his own feet and landing in the pile of manure at the sound of Clary's voice. He spun round quickly, his eyes widening in surprise as he took her in.

For the first time since Jace met her, Clary had ditched her elaborate gowns for a long-sleeved white blouse and a pair of tight-fitting black leather pants with a pair of thigh-high leather boots with silver studs on them. Her auburn hair was in a side braid and she was clutching a matching black leather jacket in her hands.

She tugged her lip in between her teeth nervously, making Jace swallow thickly.

'_Compose yourself, Herondale. No need to be so flustered. It's only Clary…in a sexy-leather-outfit-that's-practically-showing-off-her-delicate-curves… No big deal. Pfft, it's not so much of a turn-on with leather anyway. And especially since it's _only_Clary_.' Jace shivered, holding the shovel in a vise-grip, as if it were the only thing tethering him to his sanity. God help him.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Clary said, smiling sheepishly.

Jace cleared his throat nervously. "Quite right, Milady. I take it you must've been busy tending to your own duties," Jace said coolly, hiding his jitters. "No dress today I see?"

Clary's cheeks turned pink at his observation. "No," she said softly. "I didn't think it'd be appropriate since I'm planning to go out riding tonight. Why, do you think these clothes do not suit me?" she asked in a small voice, as if she was afraid of Jace's disapproval.

"No, I think they suit you very well. You look very fetching in leather, I think," Jace replied sincerely, eyeing her up and down appreciatively.

Clary blushed a deeper shade of red. "Thank you," she returned, looking at Jace with hooded eyes.

Jace could have sworn he felt a part of him twitch. "What are you doing here?" Jace asked, hoping to distract himself from his _problem_.

Clary furrowed her eyebrows at him. Was he about to launch himself into another one of his mood swings?

"It's late; you shouldn't be riding out there by yourself, especially since you're a princess," he said sternly, feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness towards Clary.

Clary huffed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. "What does me being a princess have anything to do with my decision to ride at night? As if it's not smothering enough being cooped up in the castle all day long, sitting through a bunch of useless lessons on how to become a 'proper lady'! What, now I can't even go out at night without someone breathing down my neck?" she demanded, frustrated tears shining in her emerald eyes. A tear escaped her eye and Clary harshly rubbed it away, sniffling a little.

Jace's features softened visibly in empathy. He knew how it felt like, to feel trapped and controlled. Clary deserved her own freedom, too. "Would you like me to escort you, Milady?" Jace asked politely, inadvertently disregarding his rationale and resolution to avoid Clary.

Clary's green eyes searched Jace's amber ones warily, looking for a hint of condescendence but found none. She beamed at him shyly, nodding once. "I'd like that very much."

Jace smiled back at her. Leaning his shovel against the side of Wayfarer's enclosure, he abandoned his earlier task of clearing horse dung eagerly. He knew there was an unspoken rule that slaves weren't allowed onto the royal horses, but honestly, since when was Jace one to care about rules?

No one would notice him gone anyway; he was sure that Valentine wasn't even aware of his existence, and as far as supervision went, it was very lax. There were no guards to mind the stables and Simon was only around when Jace reported for his duties—and not to mention, he usually wouldn't stay around for any longer than 15 minutes to 'observe' Jace. Michael would only be back to fetch Jace from the stables and walk him back to the barracks at midnight or sometimes even later than that. No one would notice him missing. And besides, he was _mostly_ done with his duties anyway.

As Clary slipped her jacket on, Jace unlatched the bolts to Wayfarer's stall and led the brown steed out by its reins, bringing it to a halt next to Clary. Once he had secured the chestnut-brown saddle on the horse, Jace mounted Wayfarer gracefully and offered a hand to assist Clary up.

Wordlessly, Clary accepted his hand, but not before feeling the jolt of electricity rushing through her veins upon the skin-to-skin contact.

Jace helped Clary up easily, seating her behind him snugly. She automatically wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his back, snuggling into the space between his shoulder blades.

Jace stifled a surprised gasp and he felt his body tingle with pleasure and warmth. He wondered if Clary could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He tightened his grip on the reins, blinking furiously, and before his conscience could catch up with him, he steered Wayfarer at a steady gallop away from the stables.

* * *

The full moon shone like a luminous pearl against the star-freckled night sky, casting a silvery glow upon the crystal waters of Lake Lynn.

Jace sat leaning his back against the rough contours of the old willow tree, his palms resting upon the soft blades of green grass. A wistful smile crossed his lips as he remembered the days he had spent there at the lake training with Alec and having picnics with his family.

His amber eyes shone brightly as they landed on the redheaded princess, who stood by the edge of the lake, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in an effort to preserve her body warmth as she drank in the tranquility of the night. She was beautiful, a far greater beauty than the night ever was; and yet, she was completely oblivious to just how spellbinding she really was.

Jace let his head fall backwards against the trunk of the tree, sighing heavily as an ambitious thought danced through his mind. How he wished he could enfold her in his arms in a tight embrace, to be able to escape the harsh and painful truth that was reality, just to live in his own haven of dreams with _her_. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking away his fantasies. That was all it will ever be—a fantasy, an illusion, a misguided hope. Yet, why was he still hanging on to them?

Clary twirled away from the lake, her emerald green eyes instantaneously shifted to find the gladiator's shimmering aureate ones like a pulsing magnetic attraction. She smiled bashfully at him, feeling her heart race at the very sight of him.

Under the moon's silvery-white incandescence, his golden features appeared washed-down, yet he was still as stunning and alluring as ever. She bit her lip, wishing she could run her dainty fingers through his golden halo of lustrous curls; wishing for an alternate reality where he was a prince, and not a gladiator.

Clary sighed tiredly. In the last few days since she had first met him, she hadn't been able to pass a single minute without thinking about him—_her angel._ His mesmerizing golden eyes that swirled like honey and caramel seeing into the depths of her soul, his charming wit, albeit sardonic at times—_everything_ about him—filled every waking moment of her life; and even within the confines of her sleep, he continued to haunt her relentlessly. He was snarky and arrogant, and completely unpredictable at times, yet, Clary found herself hopelessly falling for him. And she didn't even know his name, she realized.

"Are you just going to stand there all night and marvel at my beauty or are you going to come over here and join me?" Jace said wryly, his signature smirk adorning his handsome features.

Clary's cheeks turned a shade of crimson and she silently wished her auburn tresses were down so she could conceal her flaming cheeks behind it like a curtain. Shrugging her shoulders at a poor attempt of nonchalance, Clary crossed the short distance between them and plopped herself down gracelessly next to her male companion.

Jace chuckled lightly at her and she subconsciously leaned closer to him, allowing their shoulders to brush against each other. Clary stifled a smile as she heard his sharp intake of breath. Risking a peek at him, she raised her green eyes tentatively and gasped as she found his golden eyes already directed on her.

Jace smiled at her reaction. "Are you all right? You know, you've been standing there for close to an hour just staring out at the lake. What were you thinking about?" Jace asked in a smooth, velvety voice.

Clary blanched, and her green orbs dulled. "A lot of things," she said in a small voice. "I—my—my–fa–father," her voice shook, and she swallowed the lump in her throat painfully.

Jace unwittingly wrapped an arm around Clary, pulling her into him protectively and she buried her face in his shoulder, quivering slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm such a burden, aren't I?" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Jace tucked two fingers underneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No, no you're not," he told her in a gentle voice. "You can tell me anything. I'm here for you. We are friends, aren't we?"

She pulled away, sniffling. "But I don't even know your name. I don't know anything about you." She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly as she rocked herself back and forth.

Jace's face contorted in discomfort. "How about this? You tell me what's bothering you and I'll deliberate on what I _can_ tell you about myself?" Jace negotiated hesitantly.

Silence passed over the two before Clary gave an infinitesimal nod. She inhaled deeply and let her right cheek rest on top of her tucked knees, facing away from Jace.

"The other night, when my brother, Jon, came to find me to bring me to my father, we had a serious 'talk'," she said quietly.

"Not that every other conversation I have with my father wasn't serious, but, this one—this one really stuck to me. He was talking about my future, the future that he had already planned out for me. He told me that I am to be wed by the end of this year. That he's already arranged for suitors for my hand in marriage, and that I'm supposed to spend time with them, and practice on how to be a good, subservient _wife_. He said they'll be _here_ by _tomorrow_," she finished, her voice faltering at the end.

Jace clenched his fist and his jaw locked as anger burned within him at the thought of Clary being married off to some other royal jerk.

"Did you say anything to him? Anything at all to sway his decision?" Jace asked pointedly. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but if anything, he was angry with Valentine, not Clary.

Clary's head snapped up and she glared at Jace, tears brimming in her eyes. "You didn't think I tried? He wouldn't listen! He never listens to me! He's always had this crazy notion that women are meant to serve men, to yield under their power. What makes you think anything I say would make a difference to him?"

Jace was livid. Who did Valentine think he was to arrange Clary's life like that? He was an asshole, even to his own daughter, his own blood. How could he even live with himself when he's practically stripping his daughter of her own freedom?

"It isn't right! Someone _should_ talk to him—" Jace argued.

"This isn't about right or wrong. Even if there was someone to speak up for me, do you think he'll listen? With my father, whatever he believes in is right, therefore, whatever he says, goes. No questions asked," Clary interjected.

"And besides that, who do you think could be powerful enough to make him see things differently? _You_? A gladiator who refuses to give his name, who calls himself _Shadowhunter_? Yeah, I don't think so," she snapped in an icy tone.

Jace glowered at Clary, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. "Well, that's just great, princess. Be a brat when you're upset. Take it out on me when all I'm trying to do is help you. Maybe that's the reason why your father won't listen to you anyway, because all you ever do is demand for things like a spoilt child. It's my business whether or not I want to tell you my name. Don't use that against me just because you can't find anything else to vent on," Jace seethed, his face turned into a cold and distant mask.

Swiping the tears away from her eyes angrily, Clary scrambled to her feet, jerkily untying Wayfarer from where he was bound to the tree. Jace swiftly followed, mounting the brown horse before Clary could get on it. Knowing her, Clary would have probably left him behind just to get away from him; and besides, Jace didn't want to jeopardize her safety due to her reckless haze.

Jace tugged the reins in his right hand securely, and reached out his other hand for Clary to take, only to have her swat it away scornfully in adamant refusal. Getting increasingly impatient with her tantrum, Jace grabbed her by her arm forcibly and swung her up onto the horse, ignoring her blatant protests. Without waiting for her to adjust herself comfortably on the horse, Jace took Wayfarer off at a fast trot, leaving Clary shrieking and clawing at his shirt viciously at an attempt to keep her balance.

When they reached the stables only 15 minutes later, Clary wasted no time in getting off Wayfarer, purposely shoving Jace in the process. Without regarding him with so much as a proper farewell, she stormed off, leaving him to stare after her with a bemused expression.

_Yes, she was definitely one hell of a spitfire._

And Jace was _regretfully_ besotted with her.

* * *

**Thoughts on the Clace scene?:) **

**OK, so the good news is, from here on out, the plot (which mainly involves Clace) will progress a whole lot more than this;) **

**And hmm, there'll be a _new_ character in the next chapter...Guesses?**

******Updates will be carried out weekly; but for now, I've decided to give you guys a few tiny snippets!**

"The Arena Dumont? Why are we here?" Clary asked nervously as they walked through the tunnels of Dumont, heading for the gladiator barracks.

A satisfied and arrogant smirk stretched across the fiend's face, and that was all it took for Jace before all hell broke loose.

"_You_! What the hell did you think you were doing?" Jonathan spat icily.

**Please review!;)**

**XO!~N**


	8. Chapter 7: The Price of Defiance

**********Author's Note: (IMPORTANT—PLEASE READ)**

Hello, guys!:) As usual, thank you to all my readers, followers, reviewers, etc. Your support means so much to me:) Really, I can't express how happy I feel each time I read a new review or see a new follower; so thank you very much!;)

Ok, so before we start, I just want to clarify some things with regards to the story so far:

**First** of all, in case it's still not so clear to some readers, Jace's identity is anonymous to anyone but Michael and Alec (since these two share a history with Jace). To everyone else, Jace is just a gladiator called 'Shadowhunter'. Clary doesn't even know that Jace is called 'Jace'...yet.

**Secondly**, the big showdown between Jace and Valentine will only be towards the end of the story (at the final games, which is slightly less than three months away). Why? Well, because as much as Jace is hell-bent on killing Valentine to avenge his parents, he still doesn't have an actual game plan on how he would go about killing him. See the problem there? Jace can't just randomly murder Valentine or he'll doom himself. So technically, the whole Jace-Valentine fiasco is on a sort of hiatus for now because Jace is really just trying to lie low in order to keep his true identity a secret.

**Thirdly**, this is a bit of a spoiler, but I just want to say that you guys don't have to worry about Clary getting married so soon. It'll be mentioned in a few chapters later that the wedding date of her arranged marriage will only be after the games...so there's some time to chillax first.

And **last** of all, as far as Clace's feelings for each other go at this point, they're **not** exactly already in love with each other. I mean there's a sense of that _love at first sight _element, but then again, it's not really to the extent of (bam!) immediate love...when I used the term 'besotted' in the previous chapter, I meant it more as a **deep crush** rather than head-over-heels-in-love. Really, for Clace, the feelings they have for each other so far is kind of superficial, especially where Clary's feelings for Jace is concerned since she knows absolutely nothing about him. You could say that they are more 'drawn' to each other, but not just mainly because of looks, but also because of each other's intriguing personalities. Plus, developing actual strong feelings/attraction for the opp sex is a new thing that both Clary and Jace are experiencing, they're both just mainly curious at his point, and don't really know what to make of their feelings...does that make sense? Haha, that's from my own perspective as a writer anyway. How you see Clace's relationship/feelings for each other is all up to your own interpretation I guess. (OMG I'M SO FREAKING LONG-WINDED)

With that said, let's get back to the story! This is Chapter 7. A lot of things happen here, I would say. Things will mostly be in Clary's Third Person POV here cos I think we need to know a bit more about her and not just Jace all the way.

Please R&R!

**Disclaimer:**

Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters. I only own the storyline here...;)

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Price of Defiance**

Clary sat unmoving on her seat in front of her vanity, her eyes staring blankly into the mirror as her maid, Isabelle, fussed over her hair. It was a normal routine for her—wake up at seven a.m., shower and get dressed, then go through a rigorous chain of etiquette lessons, dance lessons, and whatever else her father saw fit.

She yawned tiredly, not bothering to cover her mouth, as her eyelids began to slowly droop. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed; no matter how hard she had willed herself to go to sleep, it had been futile. Her mind kept on hounding her about her father, her suitors and forced marriage, and above all, _her_ golden gladiator.

Clary didn't know why she was obsessing over him though. It's not as if she could ever end up with him—her father would never approve of it, not unless hell decided to freeze over and animals could suddenly talk. Besides, even if her father did approve of her 'relationship' with _her_ gladiator, what made Clary so certain that he would even want to be with her? It's obvious he doesn't like her father, so why would he want Clary? In all honesty though, she didn't understand him at all. One moment he could be all sweet and charming to her, and then the next, he could be mean and frightening—although admittedly, Clary was always the one to instigate him first.

Clary rubbed the spot in between her eyebrows tiredly. She had to get over him. It would never work out, she kept reminding herself. He's a gladiator, and gladiators don't necessarily have a long life span. Life in the arena was a constant occupational hazard; he could get easily killed in the arena or even in training. Even if he were lucky enough to survive the games, —that would be held less than three months from now—he would still be bound to the arena as a slave. He was still young, barely at his peak—there was no way her father would ever free him from the arena anytime soon.

She shook her mind off her gladiator, redirecting her focus onto an even more _pressing issue_ at hand.

Ever since her father's 'big family announcement' a week ago, Clary had been dreading the coming of this day—the day she would be introduced to her suitors, and be forced to spend time with them. _For an entire week!_

_'God, please help me. Save me from this terror called 'life'. I'd rather be in a freak-accident and end up in a coma. A long coma, preferably, where I can get lots and lots of sleep…' _she smiled rather sadistically to herself.

"Clary, are you all right?" Isabelle asked, her tone laced with worry and concern. Clary smiled at her through her reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah, Izzy, I'm fine. Just tired." Then as if to prove her point, she yawned again, loudly this time.

"Rough night, eh?" Isabelle, or often referred to by her nickname Izzy, smirked at her impishly.

"Hmm, you have no idea," Clary slurred, pitching forward in her seat and burying her head into her arms on her vanity.

"Clary!" Izzy chided, clearly annoyed that Clary was ruining her 'work'.

Clary couldn't care less though. "_Please just let me sleep. Just for five minutes,"_ she begged, her voice coming out in a series of incomprehensible muffles.

Izzy huffed in annoyance. "Clary, I don't care that you're tired and want to sleep. Your father is expecting you in the dining room for breakfast in ten minutes and you know what will happen if you turn up late! Besides, you have suitors coming in to see you today. You wouldn't want to make a bad impression on them."

Clary groaned, lifting her head from her vanity reluctantly. It was pointless to argue with Izzy on that. Clary knew Izzy wouldn't agree with her opinions on the whole matchmaking process anyway so there was really no point in wasting her breath on the subject.

"Okay, let's just make this quick. I'm so ready for this week to be over," Clary grumbled.

* * *

Three days later, Clary found herself staring blankly into space—not that she was ever remotely attentive of the real world around her anyway, for Clary so often disappeared into her own mind; though admittedly, she had been living in her own world more than the real one as of late.

She was lying down on the plush red sofa on the first floor of the royal library, surrounded by vast masses of books that were lined neatly on the rows and rows of colossal bookshelves made from expensive cherry-colored oak wood. From the seven-story high marble ceiling that was bedecked with mural paintings of angels dangled an intricate iron chandelier that illuminated the room with an inviting bright orange glow.

The library was easily one of the biggest rooms in the palace, and Clary's favorite place to be in. It was her hallowed sanctuary—untainted by her father's touch, and therefore, unlike most other rooms, it had a warm and homely atmosphere.

Ever since she was a child and had first moved into the palace in Idris, Clary had always enjoyed the solace she found in the library, tucked away amongst the thousands of tomes buried there just waiting to be discovered.

To some people, like her brother, reading was a chore, a stifling burden that he would much rather avoid. But to Clary, reading was a sacred pastime, one she reveled in; and after days of feeling asphyxiated by her father and her suitors, Clary was eager to find escape into the world of fantasy her books offered her.

Yet, today, despite the comforting old, musky scent of the pages of the romance novel in her hands, Clary could not find peace. Each time she tried to concentrate on the words gracing the pages, she found them jumbling around instead of stringing themselves together to form coherent sentences. It was absolutely vexing.

She begged for God to help her clear her mind, to empty her thoughts of her worries, her fears, her insecurities, of her confounding gladiator, but it was hopeless. They kept infiltrating her mind, like parasites, and they were beginning to eat her up and tear her apart from the inside.

As far as her suitors went, Clary couldn't ignore the blatant distaste she had for them. They were overly haughty and boastful, and neither could hold a conversation with her without infusing talks about politics and how their kingdoms were faring economically—topics that Clary clearly had no interest in listening to whatsoever.

Besides that, Clary was absolutely peeved by the fact that all three suitors that had been presented to her were all much, _much_ older than she was. The last three days had been hell for Clary—she had spent each day with a different suitor; and half the time, apart from their boring, mundane exchange, she had to brave their predatory, lustful glances and their 'romantic' efforts to woo her.

It had all came down to a boiling point last night when one of them, Lord Axel Mortmain as she remembered, had actually tried to cope a feel out of her while they were dancing. Outraged, Clary had finally lost it and kneed him in the groin. With her full-blown temper on display, —much to her father's own rage that he had whipped her with a belt after— she had actually sent all of them packing and riding for the hills out of Idris.

She sighed in relief. She was _safe_—for now.

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern!" her father's rich and commanding voice boomed.

'_Speak of the devil and he shall appear,'_ Clary internally groaned.

Clary bolted upright from her position on the sofa, her hands immediately flying to her curls in an effort to make herself look presentable for her father – not because she actually bothered to, but because she would be on the receiving end of her father's wrath if she didn't.

"Good afternoon, Princess Clarissa," a deep, suave voice, not belonging to her father, greeted her.

Clary looked up promptly and saw a sharply dressed young man standing next to her father, a polite smile on his face. He was handsome, and was probably around her brother's age. He had black straight hair and charcoal-black eyes that looked calculative and emotionless, _like her father's_, Clary realized belatedly with a cold shiver.

"Clarissa, this is Sebastian Verlac, the newly crowned king of Alicante," her father said in his usual dry, impassive tone. "Do you remember him? The two of you used to play together as children, before we moved to Idris," he added, pressing her to say that she did remember him.

Clary scrunched her eyebrows lightly, trying to sift through her brain for the tiny recollection of the childhood she might have shared with Sebastian but came to none.

"Hmm, I apologize, Your Highness, but I'm afraid I do not remember," Clary said to the dark-haired king, her tone polite.

"It is nice, however, to finally meet you again," she said in a chirpier tone after her father shot her a threatening glare that went completely unnoticed by Sebastian.

Sebastian reached for her right hand, planting a soft kiss on the back of it. "Nice to meet you again, Clarissa. And please, call me Sebastian. I much rather prefer being addressed by my first name to formalities," Sebastian returned.

"As you wish, Sebastian," Clary replied good-naturedly.

"Well, Clarissa, Sebastian is here to spend the rest of the day with you. I expect you to shower him with grace and hospitality during his visit as a refined princess _should_," her father said, a warning implied in the last sentence. He looked at her straight in the eye, as if daring her to challenge his will.

"Yes, Father," she said dutifully, before Valentine turned away to leave the two of them alone in the library.

"Very well, Clarissa. Shall we?" Sebastian offered her his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, and Clary, though inwardly reluctant, took it graciously.

* * *

"The Arena Dumont? Why are we here?" Clary asked nervously as they walked through the tunnels of Dumont, heading for the gladiator barracks.

"Well, Alicante is a big supporter of the games, like Idris. I thought it would be nice to see how the gladiators here are faring. Besides, _when_ we get married, I expect you to be able to share my interests in the games," Sebastian returned coolly.

Clary felt her heart pound violently at Sebastian's statement. '_You mean '_if_', not '_when_','_ she thought angrily, resisting the urge to correct him. She had only been in his company for less than an hour and he had already been presumptuous that she would end up as his wife. He was no better than the other three, Clary sighed.

"Ah, here we are," he chirped, a malicious glint in his onyx eyes, as they reached the entrance of the barracks.

"Good afternoon, Your Highnesses," the guards greeted them as they passed. Clary nodded at them skittishly while Sebastian merely ignored them, immediately pulling her towards the field where the gladiators were busily training.

Clary couldn't explain it, but somehow, her eyes were automatically drawn to her mysterious golden gladiator, who was engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with a dark-haired boy with steely blue eyes.

Clary felt her heart race giddily at the sight. Under the sun's glare, he looked even more golden; the sweat that beaded his face and neck glistened like fresh dewdrops. Truly, he looked like a lion; his strong, muscular body alone paraded his prowess as a fighter, a _warrior._ His golden hair shone like a lion's mane, and his limbs moved with cat-like grace, like a hunter's.

Clary's head went giddy with excitement as she watched him lock horns with his fellow gladiator.

He had the dark-haired boy trapped in a devastating headlock, and was slowly beginning to wear him down. The boy, who looked just as strong and muscular, was noticeably fighting back, his arms grappling in an attempt to get the golden gladiator to loosen his hold on him. At a last ditch-attempt, the boy managed to elbow his sparring partner's abdomen hard, and Clary watched as the latter broke his hold; yet he swiftly recovered his momentum just a second later and landed a dropkick on his partner.

As Jace's feet connected with Alec's face, Alec staggered backwards a few steps but managed to maintain his balance on his feet. Jace charged towards Alec, taking advantage of his minor disorientation, and speared him to the ground. He landed, his body on top of Alec's, and immediately went for a full mount grapple; sitting astride Alec's chest, his knees pinning Alec's arms to the ground, Jace manipulated his full bodyweight into putting Alec in an arm lock.

Jace smirked as he noticed Alec distinctly weakening, his face turning a shade of red at the force of Jace's hold. It was not that he enjoyed watching Alec's displeasure; Jace was simply smirking because he knew he was winning, _again._

"Give up, Allie-boo?" Jace taunted his friend, his usual smug expression plastered on his face.

Alec glared at him weakly, his voice constricted in his throat due to the pressure of Jace's hold. Like hell he was going to give up. He wasn't going to give Jace the satisfaction of another victory. He wasn't going to submit to Jace. Not for the fourth time today.

Feigning unconsciousness, Alec's blue eyes slipped shut and he allowed his limbs to relax—giving Jace the false signal that he had given up, and was past the point of struggling. Jace's clutch on Alec's throat slackened a little as well, and Alec could have sworn, even behind his closed eyelids, that Jace had an even bigger smirk on his face. '_He thought he's won again_,' Alec thought, grinning inwardly.

Just as Jace was easing the pressure of his hold on Alec, a flash of red caught his eye. Inadvertently relinquishing his entire grip on Alec and turning his head to the source, he was shocked, to say the least, when he saw Clary standing there at the field, only a couple strides away from him, _staring at him_.

She wasn't alone though. Another man was there, his arm wrapped possessively around Clary's slender waist. And he was looking at him too—or rather, he was _observing_ Jace with a wolfish grin.

His body detached from his mind, Jace stood up, his fighting stance abandoned as he stared back at Clary, a thousand questions surging through his mind.

Exploiting Jace's momentarily distracted state, Alec jumped up onto his feet, his hard fingers seizing Jace's throat in a mighty chokehold. Not giving him the time to react, Alec lifted Jace off the ground and slammed him forcefully onto his back before pinning him; mimicking their earlier position but with their roles reversed.

Alec smirked down at Jace, "Give up, Jacey-poo?"

Jace looked back up at Alec, dazedly, as though he was in a drunken stupor. Thanks to his _distraction_, Jace was caught completely off-guard by Alec and didn't even have time to prepare himself for the brute impact of Alec's choke slam, and now, he was beginning to feel the repercussions of it.

Alec's smirk fell and his face suddenly turned serious. "Jace, you okay?" His voice was tinged with worry and he immediately removed himself from Jace, kneeling beside his friend.

"I think… you might have—ugh, given me a c-con—concussion," he groaned, coughing a little as he rolled onto his side and rubbed the back of his head.

"I'm sorry," Alec apologized, a rueful frown on his face. Gently, he helped Jace to sit up as his friend continued groaning fitfully.

"Oh, stop being a baby, Jace," he hissed, rolling his eyes.

Without thinking, Clary dashed forward, falling to her knees beside her injured gladiator. She didn't even register the shocked look on blue-eyed boy's face at her sudden appearance, immediately reaching to cup her gladiator's face in her small hands.

"Shadowhunter! Hey, are you all right? How bad are your injuries? Are you going to pass out?" Clary spluttered anxiously.

Jace's foggy eyes darted around before they finally locked with Clary's wide green eyes. He grinned at her goofily. "Hello there, again, Angel. Haven't seen you in a few days. Did you miss me?" he asked, his voice airy.

It was completely obvious that he had lost his bearings due to his concussion and probably had no control over his own speech, yet Clary couldn't help but blush at his endearment—'_Angel'._

"He has a concussion. I better take him to the infirmary, get him checked out," Alec said stiffly, his blue eyes scrutinizing Clary with cold disdain.

"Let me help you, then," Clary said, hastily scrambling to her feet.

Alec opened his mouth to argue with Clary but thought better of it.

Carefully placing the golden-haired gladiator's muscular arm around on one of her shoulders while the blue-eyed boy grabbed him by his other unoccupied arm, Clary was about to walk off with the two gladiators when her arm was suddenly yanked back harshly.

"Clarissa, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Sebastian growled, his fingers moving to grasp her wrist with bruising force.

Clary winced, whimpering at the roughness of his contact. "Let go of me, Sebastian! He's injured; I'm trying to help him get to the infirmary," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Sebastian's grip tightened, and Clary could have sworn that purple marks were already beginning to form on her wrist. She struggled against him, "Let go!" She pounded her other tiny fist against Sebastian's chest, hoping that it would sober him up enough to release her from his hold.

Sebastian's obsidian eyes dilated; and for a split second, it looked almost as if his black irises had taken up the entire space in his eyes, the whites completely obscured from sight. Clary gasped, and before she could process what was happening, Sebastian's large hand landed on Clary's cheek, the sound of the slap echoed around the field like the ricochet of a bullet.

Jace's senses suddenly rushed back to him and his golden eyes fell on Clary, who was clutching her injured cheek, tears streaming from her eyes. His eyes specifically drifted over to the red imprint on her cheek, and all of a sudden, his vision turned red. He turned his head sharply at the asshole who had so boldly assaulted _his _princess and left his mark on her.

A satisfied and arrogant smirk stretched across the fiend's face, and that was all it took for Jace before all hell broke loose.

Jace tackled Sebastian to the ground, raining angry punches on him while the latter held up his arms to protect his face from Jace's abuse.

"FIGHT BACK! Fight back, you coward!" Jace yelled, his fists unrelenting. In the distance he could hear Clary calling for him to stop but he wouldn't listen. Rage thrummed through his body, fueling the adrenaline he needed to continue his onslaught.

Not a moment later, strong hands came forward to wrest Jace away from Sebastian. Jace, of course, fought back, his livid form thrashing around violently as he continued screaming at Sebastian, calling him a list of ineffable names.

Sebastian rose onto his feet, immediately assuming his supercilious stance as his fathomless black eyes glared daggers at Jace. He swiped at the blood on his chin—that Jace managed to inflict from his first punch—and marched up to Jace purposefully. Drawing his right arm back, he threw his fist onto Jace's left cheek, causing Jace's face to snap in the other direction.

His earlier injuries finally catching up with him, Jace's knees buckled and suddenly, he had to rely on the guards to hold him up.

"Tie him up over there!" Sebastian commanded, pointing to the wooden post by the corner of the field, near the prison cells.

* * *

Clary stood frozen in her spot, mouth agape, as the guards dragged her golden gladiator away from her and towards the wooden post, binding his hands together tightly with a pair of metal handcuffs.

Jace slumped forward on his knees with his weight propped up against the post, his entire body stiff and tense as his shirt was ripped away from his body and now lay in shreds by his feet. His heart pulsated violently; he knew what was coming, and he was readying himself for it.

"Give him 20 lashes of the whip!" Sebastian roared at the brown-eyed guard, his black eyes cold and forbidding, absent of human warmth.

"NO!" Clary screamed, running forward towards Sebastian. She fell to his feet, hugging his legs with begging eyes. "Please, don't! He doesn't deserve this!"

Sebastian pretended to look thoughtful for a while, his arms crossed and his index finger lightly tapping his chin. "Hmm, you're absolutely right." He paused, looking down at her condescendingly.

"40 lashes of the whip ought to _suffice_!" he yelled cruelly at the guard while Clary broke down into tears, her desperate pleas unceasing. She tugged at Sebastian's leg doggedly, hoping that it would swerve his judgment.

With a vexed sigh, Sebastian bent down, pulling Clary's head back by her hair and whispered into her ear, "You would do well to remember not to defy me. Consider this part of your training to be _my wife_. I do not take defiance lightly, and this is just a _gentle_ reminder for you in the future, should you choose to act against my wishes."

He pulled back, casting her another pitiless look, before shoving her off him. Ignoring her cries of pain as she slammed against the hard ground, he yelled again at the guard, "What the hell are you waiting for? You dare to defy me and you will get the same punishment as this _piece of scum_ here!"

Knowing that it would be best to obey the ruthless king of Alicante, the guard stepped forward, a thick leather bullwhip raised in his hand, poised to inflict the pain and damage on the rebellious gladiator.

Jace inhaled sharply through his nose, slumping even further against the post just as the whip descended on his back with a thundering crack.

He bit his lip, feeling the blinding, stinging pain of his flesh being ripped open by the vicious object. He knew that a bloody gash had already begun to make its appearance on his back; he could feel it, like fire scorching his back, igniting a searing pain—and it was only the beginning.

Another lash from the whip and Jace's body squirmed furiously with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and bit down harder on his bottom lip. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction by crying out in pain, no matter how agonizing it felt. He was a man, no longer the eleven-year-old boy who watched helplessly as his mother was tortured and killed. He was a man, and wasn't going to make a sound.

The bitter crack of the whip went on and on, never abating, like an unremitting thunderstorm. Jace had long since lost count of the number of whiplashes he had gotten so far and was slipping in and out of consciousness; the energy from his body had long faded and he was a mere deadweight propped up against the wooden post. Another savage lash went through him and Jace's vision faded to black.

"Please stop," Clary sniveled in between sobs. She was curled up in a fetal position, her pale, alabaster face stained by a river of tears; and she was rocking herself back and forth on the ground like a woman who had lost her grip on sanity.

"STOP!" ordered a fierce, deep voice, and instantly, the guard dropped his hold on the whip, backing away from the bloodied and battered form of the golden gladiator.

Jonathan emerged, his face molded into a look of rage and contempt. It wasn't a look Jonathan often wore on his face. Somehow it looked strange, alien almost, on him. He looked like a completely different person, no longer the perky, loving older brother Clary had come to associate him with. He looked intimidating—_exactly like their father_—and for once in her life, Clary felt frightened of him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jonathan demanded, his glare shifting between the guard and Sebastian.

"King Sebastian ordered me to—"

"I don't bloody care what Sebastian ordered you to do. He holds no power here; I am the prince of Idris, the heir to the throne, therefore, you listen to _me_," the white-haired prince growled at the guard as he shrunk back from him. "Now, release this man and bring him back to the cell," he finished, his voice crisp and steely, his glare unwavering.

Jonathan watched, his blazing green eyes never missing a step as the guard cautiously removed the handcuffs from the golden gladiator's hands; he signaled to another guard to help carry the unconscious gladiator back to his cell, silently warning them to be careful with him.

As soon as they had left his sight, Jonathan's focus shifted to Clary. She remained huddled in a corner, her tiny body shaking with silent sobs as she looked back at her brother in fear.

His eyes softened. He had never meant to scare her sister like that. Running his hand through his white-blonde hair, he turned to his trusted servant.

"Thomas, get Clarissa back to her chambers immediately. Make sure Isabelle is there and tends to my sister; and if necessary, get the doctor Magnus Bane to check on her. She looks to be in a shock," Jonathan sighed, looking worriedly at his sister.

Seeing Clary's state of distress, Thomas bent down and gently lifted Clary up in his arms. One arm supporting her head and the other tucked under the back of her knees, he made sure not to jostle Clary around too much for fear of upsetting her further.

Jonathan walked up to Thomas and Clary; his hand immediately went to Clary's now-unruly curls, smoothening it down in an attempt of comforting her. He planted a soft, brotherly kiss on her forehead, whispering words of assurance to Clary; apologizing for scaring her; and promising to check on her later when he got back home.

* * *

Once Clary had left Jonathan's line of sight, he whipped around dangerously to face Sebastian. As his green eyes met Sebastian's black ones, Jonathan felt the rage in his chest rekindle.

"_You_! What the hell did you think you were doing?" Jonathan spat icily.

"Well, hello to you too, Prince Jonathan," Sebastian returned sarcastically, his emotionless onyx eyes showing not even the slightest hint of regret. "And to answer your question, had I not thought that it was obvious, I was merely teaching the boy a lesson, giving him the punishment he so rightfully deserves for defying my authority."

"And what, _pray tell_, did the man do to merit such a cruel punishment? To have him be whipped senseless and tortured half to death?" Jonathan demanded, raising his voice.

"_Man_? You call him a _man_?" Sebastian snorted as though Jonathan had just told him a joke.

"Why, Prince Jonathan, I am sorely disappointed in you. That _man_, as you so generously call him, is nothing more than a common scum! A disgusting vermin who thought he could lay his hands on me and get away with it scot-free! I only did what I did to restore the balance of_ justice_."

A lazy, conceited smirk stretched across Sebastian's face. "By the way, you might want to be _grateful_ that it had been me bestowing the penalty on that lowlife and _not_ your father. Now surely, had it been King Valentine, that criminal would have been hung, drawn and quartered; his remains probably scattered all over the arena or hung on display for all to see as a prime example for his act of defiance and for assaulting a member of royalty."

Jonathan fumed at his words. Like Clary, Jonathan was never one to stand by and watch as people, slaves included, were abused for no damn good reason. It unnerved him greatly. To Jonathan, slaves were people with their own rights as well; who deserved to be treated like humans, not like dogs as his father and Sebastian made them out to be.

"Well, I don't believe that that man would have attacked you had you not provoked him. So tell me—what did you do to set him off then?" Jonathan countered, his voice hard.

"_If I may, Prince Jonathan_," another voice piped in.

Jonathan turned to the owner of the voice—a man who was in his early forties with dark hair and brown eyes.

"And who are you, may I ask?" Jonathan inquired, maintaining the authority in his tone.

"My name is Michael; and that gladiator who was punished by King Sebastian belongs to me," Michael spoke in a controlled voice.

"Very well. Speak your tale, good sir," Jonathan nodded at the man.

"My gladiator, Shadowhunter, as you would know him—I've raised him since he was a little boy. He's reckless, yes, I'll admit to that. But he's smart as well. He would never attack or physically respond to taunts to a figure of authority without a valid reason. And believe me, Your Highness, he had a very good reason for doing what he did."

Michael paused, and Jonathan nodded at him again, urging him to continue. "King Sebastian assaulted Princess Clarissa because he was unhappy that she was 'socializing' with my gladiator. My gladiator merely stepped in to defend her honor and to prevent him from hurting her even further."

Jonathan's ears buzzed with rage. His jaw set, and against his better lack of self-restraint, he lunged towards Sebastian; his hands yanked his shirt viciously to the point of almost tearing it. He slammed Sebastian against the wall with brute force; his face hovered so closely to Sebastian's as he stared him down that their noses were brushing against each other's.

"_YOU LAID YOUR HANDS ON MY SISTER?" _Jonathan screamed. With an irate grunt, he released his grip on Sebastian's shirt, shoving him away roughly before he could lose his temper completely and maim Sebastian on the spot.

"Get out. You've worn out your welcome here. I don't want to see your filthy face around here ever again, and in case that's not clear enough for you, that also means I don't want you anywhere near my sister, or else—"

"Or else, what, Jonathan?" Sebastian interrupted coldly; his earlier smirk exchanged for a dangerous and malevolent look. Jonathan's breath hitched and against his will, he stumbled backwards away from Sebastian.

"You'll do well to remember your place, _Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern_.I am the king of Alicante while _you _are nothing more than a prince, therefore, I'd watch my tongue if I were you. Lay your hands on me and I will personally send my army after you and your sister," he threatened vehemently.

"_Don't you dare_—"

"Like I said—_Remember your place,_" Sebastian cut in sharply. "Had it not been for my late father and the troops from Alicante, your father wouldn't have been able to claim sovereignty over Idris and _you_ would have been nothing more than a commoner, exiled from your own homeland. Is that what you want?" he asked, jabbing a finger at Jonathan's chest.

"I don't give a damn about royalty. I don't care if you throw me out on the streets. You just stay the hell away from my sister," Jonathan bit back, his green eyes reclaiming its fervor.

"You can bark at me all the idle threats you want, Jonathan, but it won't work. Clarissa _will be mine_."

Jonathan made a low growling sound in his throat, but Sebastian remained unfazed as his lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Has your father not told you yet?" he laughed mirthlessly while Jonathan's face turned into a look of utter confusion.

Sebastian looked at remaining guards and Michael who stood there awkwardly, watching their barbed exchange. With a pointed wave of his hand, he sent them away, leaving him and Jonathan alone, before he turned to the prince.

"Honestly, foolish little Jonathan. Did you really think that my family would have helped your father all those years ago out of the kindness of our own hearts? That we'd agree to risk our own troops against Stephen's forces without payment in return from your father?"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It has been arranged a long time ago, since Clarissa and I were little children, that we were to be wed when we grew older," Sebastian paused, as if gauging Jonathan's reaction. Jonathan looked stumped, his mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled for words.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "She was the bargaining chip, the price your father paid in exchange for our help. Funny, isn't it? How your father was so willing to sell his own daughter, just for the sake of getting revenge on his adopted brother? He didn't even need to think, my father said. To him, Clarissa was, or rather, _is,_ just a small price, nothing much for him to lose."

"I don't believe you! My father _wouldn't_ stoop to such low levels. If he had agreed to the terms that you and Clarissa were to be married, then why would he even bother to arrange for other suitors for her?" Jonathan protested incredulously.

Sebastian sighed at Jonathan as though he was a lost cause. "Those three suitors your sister met with before me—they were just part of a ruse, a design in your father's plan, to make it seem to Clarissa as though she actually has a choice in whom she marries. Your naïve little sister…despite what she thinks she's entitled to, she has no say in the matter. She belongs to _me_. She _always has_, and she _always will_. She couldn't possibly find anyone better than me, anyway, so it's pointless, really."

"You bastard."

"Name-calling won't change anything, Jonathan. There's a much bigger picture to this _plan_ than you think. You see, it's not about a simple matter of marriage; your father doesn't believe that you have the _finesse_ it would take to run a kingdom—so he's agreed to let _me_ take over Idris once he is no longer able to. Once Clarissa and I are married, Idris and Alicante will officially merge as one nation, one kingdom, under my rule and protection. Your father wouldn't dare break our treaty; he's in a far much compromising situation now with how Idris has been faring as of late."

Jonathan perked up at that. "What do you mean by that? Idris—"

"Honestly, Jonathan. And to think that you _were_ supposed to be the next in line for the throne…you're completely clueless, aren't you?" he asked, clicking his tongue impatiently.

"You don't even know all the crimes and fraudulence your father has committed all these years. All the taxes he's been collecting from the people? He's been using them to invest in his beloved games. Your people have been swiped of their own money right before their very eyes; they're starving, Jonathan, which is why Idris is in desperate need of a merger with Alicante, to strengthen its destabilizing economy and everything else that your father has been failing to maintain."

Jonathan was speechless by the end of Sebastian's revelation. He knew that his father was brutal and callous most of the time; but he had never expected his father to be so obsessed with his gladiator games to resort to deceiving his own people like that. And the fact that Sebastian knew all that information when he didn't—it just made him feel completely lost. How long had his father been conspiring with the royal family of Alicante?

"I see you're deep in your thoughts. Having a hard time to process all of this?" Sebastian remarked mockingly before letting out a dramatic sigh. "My, my, Jonathan. All this talk with you is incredibly exhausting. You really are as stupid as you look. But don't worry, Jonathan. You won't exactly lose your sister when she marries me."

Sebastian walked up to Jonathan casually, whispering maliciously in his ear, "I'll make sure to hire you as her personal servant; that way, you can wait on her hand and foot all you want. It's a fair deal, don't you think?"

Jonathan remained frozen. In the corner of his eye, he saw a messenger boy heading towards them. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, a matching-colored beret seated on his dirty blonde hair.

"Lord Sebastian?" the boy asked timidly, his eyes directed to the ground. Sebastian was one of those harsh rulers, like Valentine, who despised it when commoners looked them in the eye when addressing them.

"Yes? What do you want?" Sebastian snapped in a bored tone.

"I have a telegram for you, Your Highness. It is from your fellow politicians in Alicante," he stammered as he handed Sebastian a piece of paper that had a few words imprinted on it in neat, cursive handwriting.

Sebastian snatched the telegram away from the boy's hands tersely, his black eyes skimming over the words silently before he looked up at Jonathan. "It seems that I have matters to attend to in Alicante," he said evenly.

"Do send Clarissa my _love_, won't you? Tell her I'm deeply regretful and sorry that I have to be called back on such short notice, and tell her that I promise to visit again soon—so that I can court her again _properly_ before our wedding," Sebastian finished with a smug smirk.

Before Jonathan could get a word in, Sebastian turned away and walked off, his head high and his chin up, as though he owned the world and people worshipped the ground he walked on.

Jonathan slumped down against the hard, concrete ground, his back against the pillar, his body suddenly numb and exhausted. His mind had never felt more frazzled than it was right now.

He felt as though his whole life had been a lie.

His father was a sham; he had been planning his and Clary's _fates_ behind their backs this whole time, manipulating them like pawns in his own little game of chess. Despite the brutal trainings and the punishments, his father had never even intended to let Jonathan inherit his throne. It hurt him to know that his father would rather trust someone else than his own son; that he'd rather trust…Sebastian.

What was he supposed to do now? And worse, how would he tell Clary about all this?

* * *

**Poor Jace ;( But whatever happened to him here will definitely bring him and Clary closer...**

**Clary's oblivious that she's supposed to marry Sebastian btw, so please bear that in mind in the following chapters.**

**And ooh, we see another side to Jonathan...hmm, I love Jon. His character is really fun to write. **

**Please review on your thoughts about this chapter. I'm going crazy out of my mind with school so I apologize in advance if my updating schedule later along the way becomes haywire...(like I _might_ take a month to update or so)...just be patient with me.**

**Oh, and here's a snippet for the next chapter:**

Jace averted his eyes and his gaze focused on the sparkly, Asian-looking man who was kneeling beside him. He squinted his eyes, wondering again if he was hallucinating. "Fairy godmother?" Jace asked, his voice small like a child's.

**XO!~N**


	9. Chapter 8: Finding Solace in Pain

**Author's Note:**

Hello, guys! Here's Chapter 8! It takes place a couple hours after the whiplashing incident in the previous chapter. I don't have much to say here, just thank you to all the readers and followers, and to all you lovely people who have reviewed so far!;)

**Disclaimer:** Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Finding Solace In Pain**

Cold was all that Clary felt; despite the warmth of her duvet in her bed, she was still trembling violently. Her cries had long subsided into silent hiccups, yet she couldn't find it in her to break out of her catatonic state.

Images of her golden gladiator, bloodied and battered, flashed through her mind. Why did he have to stand up for her? Why did he have to put himself at risk for her sake? He didn't owe her anything. She hadn't exactly been remotely kind to him either—for the past few times they'd met, she'd always somehow managed to bait him; and yet, he had so willingly defended her honor. She didn't deserve him. He was a good man, better than anyone she had ever met, and he was probably dying now because of her.

Isabelle paced around her room worriedly, her mind at a complete loss at what to do to comfort the princess. She had drawn a hot bath for Clary upon her return and had filled it with scented oils of lavender and vanilla in hopes that it would help soothe her, but it was hopeless. The chamomile tea that she had prepared for her sat on her bedside table untouched and undoubtedly now cold.

The door to Clary's room swung open with a gentle creak, and Jonathan padded in, looking terribly disheveled. His usually playful face was etched with heavy concern and distress, and he looked like he had just come through a hurricane. He rushed to Clary's side, seating himself next to her on her bed.

"Hey, baby girl, how are you?" Jonathan asked in a mellow, honeyed voice as he stroked the untamed scarlet tendrils away from his sister's face.

He reclined on the bed on his side, facing Clary, but she didn't respond to him at all; her dulled emerald green eyes stared back at him blankly, as though she was seeing him but not seeing him at the same time. Jonathan furrowed his eyebrows, and his green eyes flitted over to Isabelle who was standing near the marble fireplace in the room.

"Has she spoken at all?" Jonathan asked her anxiously.

"No. I've tried to coax her into telling me what happened but she wouldn't even give me the slightest bit of response. She's been trembling non-stop since she came in. I gave her a hot bath, I tried giving her tea, but she still wouldn't cave," Isabelle replied in an equally worried tone.

"Have you summoned Magnus?"

"Yes, he should be here soon," Isabelle replied, subconsciously chewing on her fingernail.

Jonathan's attention turned back to his sister. "It's all right, baby girl. He's gone. He's gone back to Alicante. He won't be bothering you anytime soon. Everything's all right," Jonathan cooed, his knuckles brushing the tender bruise on Clary's cheek.

Clary let out a tiny whimper and Jonathan gathered her in his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest as he rubbed her back therapeutically, making soft hushing noises. At the back of his mind, his conversation with Sebastian was playing like a broken record, but Jonathan knew now wasn't the time to tell Clary about any of it. He hated keeping his sister in the dark, but it was for her own good. She didn't need any more bullshit on her plate.

The door opened again and this time, the tall frame belonging to Magnus Bane emerged—he was the royal family's physician, and had served the Morgensterns for as long as Jonathan could remember. Known for his erratic sense of fashion, Magnus was clad in a sparkly dark purple velvet suit, and his black hair was spiked up fashionably and coated in a layer of glitter. His greenish-yellow cat-like eyes roamed around the room fleetingly before landing on Clary, and he strode calmly into the room towards her.

Jonathan promptly sat up and got off the bed, allowing Magnus to take up his previous position next Clary. Magnus seated himself next to her slowly, before studiously checking her vitals.

"From the looks of it, she's experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder," Magnus said in a careful tone. "What happened to her?" he turned to Jonathan, looking at him inquisitively.

Jonathan hesitated, biting on the inside of his cheek. "She had a suitor come by today—King Sebastian of Alicante. He took her to the gladiator barracks at Dumont in an attempt of courting her. Then, apparently, from what I've heard, he got angry at Clarissa and assaulted her." From the corner of the room, Jonathan heard Isabelle gasp but he remained composed and continued.

"After that, one of the gladiators attacked Sebastian to try to protect her, and he ended up getting whiplashed in front of her," he explained, his eyes trained on Clary the whole time to see if it would elicit any response from her.

Magnus sighed. "Well, there's nothing much I can do in this case. Just give her time—spend more time with her, but don't pressurize her into talking until she's ready to. For now, I'll give her some healing herbs to help soothe her and put her to sleep. It'll be best if you stay with her tonight; she might get nightmares from the incident so it wouldn't do her any good being by herself," Magnus instructed as he dug into his polished leather briefcase.

Jonathan nodded attentively, and all of a sudden, Clary's soft voice filled the room. "_Please_," she rasped, turning everyone's attention in the room towards her.

"_Magnus, please… please help me. Please,_" she begged, her tiny body shaking frenetically.

"Shh, I am, Clary, I am. I'll try my best to help you. Please just calm down," Magnus said gently as he prepared the herbal remedy for her. "Here, I'm going to give you this to sedate you. Hopefully, you'll feel better and well-rested when you wake up tomorrow."

He tilted a tiny, glass vial filled with the herbal concoction towards Clary's lips, but her dainty hands came up suddenly and she shakily pushed it away. "_No_," she whispered.

"Clary—"

"_No, Magnus_—_please… please just_—_help _him_. I'll do anything. I_—_please, Magnus. Please, just help him. Please_," she muttered frantically, her green eyes darting around wildly.

"Shh, shh. All right, Clary, I'll help him. I'll go. But only if you promise to listen to me and take this." He pushed the vial towards her again but she refused it.

"No, Magnus," she said, her voice stubborn and firmer this time. "I want to go with you. I need to see him. I need to make sure he's—_he's okay_." Her voice cracked at the end.

"Clary—" Jonathan started.

"All right, Clary. We'll go," Magnus interrupted, much to Jonathan's aversion. He opened his mouth to protest but Magnus cut in again, "Isabelle, go help her get dressed. I'll be waiting outside."

Magnus stood up and left the room, with Jonathan tailing him.

As soon as the door fell shut, Jonathan whirled on Magnus.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Magnus? You're a doctor! Can't you see that she's in no condition to be moving around? No, you just had to entertain her stupid, little whims! I don't mind at all that you go and help that man; in fact, I'd be grateful for it. But Clary doesn't need to go! What if she goes into another shock? What if she gets worse?" Jonathan ranted in an aggravated voice.

"Listen, Jonathan. I know you're worried about Clary, but she's determined to go see him and make sure he's okay. You saw for yourself how much she was falling apart not knowing how he is. She probably blames herself for what happened to him. Would you rather have her here against her will when you know her mind is still so fragile?" Magnus argued rationally.

"This is so _stupid_," Jonathan chafed, but his face was resigned. If his sister was going, then he was, too. He was far from happy with Magnus' decision, but who was he to argue with the doctor anyway? At least he knew that Magnus wouldn't let Clary do something unless he was sure it would be for her own good, so Jonathan might as well go along with it.

The door opened a crack, and Clary slipped outside. She was dressed in her riding gear—a simple blouse tucked into a pair of leather pants and matching leather boots—and her hair was brushed into a simple ponytail. She looked slightly better as well; her face was no longer stained with tear tracks and her green eyes shone with a renewed vigor.

"Let's go," Clary said steadily, and that was all it took for Jonathan to relent with his sister's wishes.

* * *

Jace lay sprawled out on his front, his face pressed against the filthy, grimy concrete floor of his prison cell. He had been in the same position for the last few hours, ever since those guards had dumped him there. Michael had come in to check on Jace several times, but he was about as useful as a blunt sword that Jace had told him to leave him be.

Unfortunately, or by some _strange coincidence_, Jace had been informed that the infirmary had suddenly ran out of medical supplies to treat wounds that were specifically caused by whiplashing; so there he lied, untreated, and as still as a carcass in a pool of his own crusted blood, safe for the shivers that racked his abused body.

No words could describe the pain that Jace was feeling.

He had never been whipped before, much less being whipped to the point where he couldn't even move an inch of his muscles, where it physically hurt to even breathe.

Rivulets of sweat saturated his skin like a blanket, yet ironically, he felt cold—unbelievably cold. His back was still as raw and bloody as ever, filling the dank and humid room with the putrid stench of iron and rotting flesh that Jace had to bite down the bile from rising in his own throat.

As he continued to whimper softly from the pain, a pair of light footsteps pervaded the air. Jace faintly registered the sound of the entrance to his cell being swung open, followed by a familiar gasp.

Clary's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the sight of her golden gladiator's mangled form. What she once imagined to be his flawless, angelic-looking back was now a heap of raw, bloody flesh.

Without sparing another moment, Clary dashed forward, landing on her knees beside her wounded gladiator. "_Oh my God_," she choked, her hand hesitating just a centimeter away from his back.

_It _was absolutely grotesque. Clary had had her fair share of being whipped by her father before, but the injuries that she had sustained were nowhere near as severe as his.

Multiple deep streaks of crimson marred his back; the reddish-brown scars stood garish and angry against his skin. His lacerations had stopped bleeding—_thankfully_—but now left his back caked with dried, congealed blood.

"Hey," Clary cooed at him, gently lifting his head off the floor and onto her lap. She stroked his golden hair, now matted down with grime and sweat, and heard him let out a soft moan.

Jace was convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him; he was probably still delirious from his concussion earlier and was hallucinating that Clary was there in his cell. After all, how could she possibly be here?

Slowly, he angled his head so that he could see his angel's face. She was staring down at him, her rosy lips pulled up into a sad smile; her emerald green eyes were shining with unshed tears, and her face had a visible pallor to it. Her soft hands ran through his hair, massaging it lightly—her tiny ministrations were so soothing Jace couldn't restrain himself from letting out a pleasurable moan.

"_Clary_," he moaned softly, causing her cheeks to rise with heat.

Her heart skipped a beat upon hearing her name roll off his tongue. She realized it was the first time he had called her by her name—not 'Milady', not 'Your Highness', not 'Princess'—just 'Clary'. And she decided, that she liked hearing him call her by her name.

"_Oh, God. If I'm dreaming, please don't let this end_," he muttered, his voice tight with pain.

"You're not dreaming. I'm here," Clary said softly, still showering his hair with gentle caresses.

"_Clary, please don't go. I don't want you to go_," he whimpered, nuzzling his face into her lap. He couldn't help the feeling of vulnerability that overtook him. He was in too much pain, and it was far too draining to try to hold up his defenses at this point. He was only human; he wasn't indestructible.

Clary stifled a gasp at the pleading tone in his voice. She had never seen him look or act so vulnerable before that she felt her heart give out to him. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I'm going to look after you," she said, her tender voice strong and as comforting as a mother's.

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke Clary's attention away from her wounded gladiator.

She glanced up at the cell's entrance, and saw Magnus standing there, watching the two of them with a small grin. He walked into the room, kneeling beside the gladiator, who had his face buried in Clary's lap.

"Where's Jonathan?" Clary asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's busy giving the guards a piece of his mind about what happened earlier today. And, he's making sure that there'll be no more repeats of this incident in the future," Magnus said with a smirk.

"Oh, thank God for him," Clary sighed in relief.

Magnus reached into his leather briefcase, retrieving a couple of bandages, a canister of salve, and a bottle of red wine. He looked over at Clary, who had a curious look on her face.

"What's the wine for?" she asked, her right hand still absentmindedly stroking the gladiator's hair and the other one running up and down the nape of his neck.

"It's used as a disinfectant for most wounds," Magnus replied. He eyed the gladiator apprehensively before turning to Clary again.

"Clary, I'm going to pour the wine onto his back, and it's going to sting a lot. You might need to hold him down for me. Can you do that?" he asked.

A look of grim worry crossed Clary's features and she looked down at her gladiator, his body relaxed into her embrace. "Hey," she whispered against his ear tenderly. He stirred, whimpering softly again before looking up at her, his golden eyes squinting tiredly.

"We're going to have to pour wine onto your back to help disinfect your wounds, and it's going to hurt a lot," she repeated Magnus' words to him gently.

Jace nodded, almost imperceptibly, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly to brace for the pain. He felt Clary's hands leaving his hair and reaching for his own large, calloused ones, gripping them reassuringly. "You can squeeze my hands if you want to," her breath caressed his neck like a gentle morning breeze; and he did so gently in response.

Clary nodded at Magnus, giving him the 'go-ahead' signal, and uttered a silent prayer that her gladiator would be spared of the pain soon enough. She inhaled a deep breath, just as Magnus removed the cork from the bottle and tentatively poured its contents onto the gladiator's back.

As soon as the alcohol made contact with Jace's skin, he felt as a sharp, burning sensation shoot through his body; he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood in an attempt to suppress a yell.

Against his will, a muffled cry made its way out of his throat and he buried his face even deeper into Clary's lap. He squeezed Clary's hands tightly, his tense body rocking violently with pain. The agony he felt was so surreal, it was almost as if he had been thrown into an open flame, into the cavernous fires of hell; and he silently begged for it to stop.

Clary repressed the sob from rising in her throat as she heard the muffled cries of pain emitted by her gladiator. She would not break down—_not again, not here_. His grip on her hands was so tight and painful, but she dared not pull away. She would be strong for him. She would be strong for him, just as he had been for her. So she bent down, her lips against his ear, and began to serenade him with soft lullabies.

The tight grimace on Jace's face softened as he heard a melodious, angelic voice singing to him. It was a lullaby he remembered his mother used to sing to him; and he vaguely wondered if he had died and gone to heaven for it was impossible for his mother to be there if he were still alive. But as he paid closer attention to the angel's voice, he realized it wasn't his mother at all—_it was Clary_.

The dulcet, euphonious sound of her voice was truly magical, and slowly, Jace felt the pain ebb away. The taut, rigid muscles in his back relaxed and he let out a content sigh. He turned his head towards Clary's voice, and her moving lips brushed against his nose gently like the soft petals of a rose.

Instantly, her singing halted and Jace heard her gasp softly. Unexpectedly, she kissed the tip of Jace's nose, and his golden eyes flew open in surprise just as she pulled away.

"Hey," she said to him, her cheeks flushed as usual, and she gently poked the spot on his nose where she had kissed him moments ago.

"Hi," Jace returned with a smile, his honey eyes glinting with a warm emotion he couldn't place. The feelings he felt for her was so raw, he had never experienced it with anyone else before. And for those few seconds, it was almost as if everything bad had vanished from the room, and all he could see, feel, touch, and smell was Clary.

A throat cleared, and instantaneously, the spell that had both Jace and Clary entranced with each other was broken.

Jace averted his eyes and his gaze focused on the sparkly, Asian-looking man who was kneeling beside him with an amused look on his face. He squinted his eyes, wondering again if he was hallucinating. "Fairy godmother?" Jace asked, his voice small like a child's.

The man rolled his eyes as Clary giggled. "That's Magnus Bane the Magnificent to you, gladiator," he smirked, exchanging a glance with Clary. "Well, you seem all better now—_right, Clary_?" he said, a teasing note in his voice directed at the princess.

Knowing Clary, she was probably blushing again. Jace tried moving a little, and upon feeling a dull throb in his back, his movements ceased and he slumped against Clary again.

"I'll take it from here, Magnus," Clary said in a calm and strong voice.

Magnus nodded, leaving the bandages and salve behind so that Clary could nurse what remained of the gladiator's wounds. With a wink, he exited the cell, and Clary and Jace were by themselves again.

Clary sighed, breaking the awkward tension that hung in the air. "Well, that certainly went well. How are you feeling?" she asked in an almost uneven voice as she reached for the bandages.

"Like I've been rolling on a bed of burning coals," Jace admitted weakly.

Clary snorted, her lips curling up to form a tiny smile. "Have you even tried rolling on a bed of burning coals before?" she asked, the usual feistiness returning to her voice.

"Why, of course not, Milady. That would be terribly stupid of me, now would it?" he retorted half-heartedly; his body was still so exhausted, and he didn't know how long he could keep up with his wit.

"Clary," she corrected.

"What?"

"I want you to call me 'Clary'," she said in a bashful whisper, earning a smile from Jace in return. She turned away from his gaze, her eyes shifting between the bandages and the salve, before letting out a disgruntled sigh.

Jace furrowed his eyebrows. "What's wrong, Clary?"

"We don't have a wet cloth or warm water to clean the blood off of you," she said, pinching her space between her eyebrows with a groan.

"Wait here," Clary said, removing Jace's head from her lap and placing it gently on the floor.

"I couldn't run away from you even if I tried—and I mean that in quite a literal sense," Jace replied, amusement detectable in his voice.

Clary rolled her eyes, patting Jace's head mockingly. "At least we know your sense of humor is still intact," she said as she got up, briefly leaving Jace by himself.

Now that the scorching pain in his back had somewhat faded, his muscles were aching from being stuck in the same position all night. Jace could only hope that he would still be able to walk, and hopefully, fight just as well after this. He had come too far, and too close to getting his revenge on Valentine, and he'd be damned if he let one whiplashing incident get in the way of things.

Minutes later, Clary reentered the room with two wooden bowls in her hand. She flopped down beside Jace, placing the bowls on the floor. "Do you think you can sit up?" she asked.

"I haven't moved at all since this afternoon," he mumbled. "But I might as well try. My muscles are killing me," he groaned.

Clary repositioned herself to kneel in front of Jace; she gingerly looped her arms beneath his armpits, helping to support his weight as he stretched his own hands out in front of him to push himself up into a sitting position.

Upon accomplishing their arduous task, Jace slumped forward again weakly, his head resting on Clary's shoulder. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach at the closeness of their contact, Clary reached for the wet towel in one of the wooden bowls. Wringing out the excess warm water from the towel, she then began to carefully dab away at the wound on Jace's back, meticulously ridding his skin of the dried blood.

Jace moaned, in slight pain but mostly in pleasure, at the soft, tentative touches on his back. Granted Clary was touching him with a towel rather than with her own hands, but it was still soothing enough to make him purr like a little kitten. Jace didn't know how long they were glued to each other in that position, but he didn't care. He didn't_ want_ to care. It had been far too long since anyone had actually taken care of him, and he'd missed it.

After a while, Clary finally broke the silence.

"There. You're as good as new," she pulled back from him, beaming widely with satisfaction.

Jace couldn't help but smile back at her. "Thank you, Clary," he said softly, his aureate eyes venerating her as though she was truly a mystical being.

"You're welcome," she replied, breaking his intense gaze and reaching for the salve to apply it onto his skin.

Once the salve had been generously applied, and his wounds had been bound up neatly with the bandages, Clary reached for the other wooden bowl. By then, Jace was feeling slightly better and could sit up without needing to lean on Clary for support.

Clary stirred the contents of the bowl around with a spoon, frowning lightly. "It's tomato soup," she told him. "I'm really sorry…I meant to feed it to you before but I thought that your wounds needed my attention more, and I couldn't possible nurse them and feed you at the same time, and now your soup's all cold," she rambled, her nose scrunching up together in self-annoyance as she began to unconsciously stir the soup faster.

"Hey, it's okay, Clary," Jace hushed her, his hand reaching for her wrist to cease her movements.

She peeked at Jace, pouting a little and he nodded at her in reassurance, opening his mouth for her to feed him. She smiled shyly, and eagerly complied, feeding him spoon after spoon until the bowl finally ran dry.

"I forgot to get you some water," she groaned again, slapping her forehead with her palm.

Jace chuckled at her frustration. "Really, Clary, it's all right." He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers together lightly, a forlorn smile on his face.

"Thank you…for everything that you've done for me, for putting up with me. I know how disgusting I must look with all the blood and the scars, and you really didn't have to do what you did."

Clary opened her mouth to argue with him but he held his hand up to stop her. "And I'm really sorry about all the mean things I've said to you. I was wrong; you're nothing at all like your father. You're kind and beautiful, and I just—_Thank you_," he finished earnestly, squeezing her hand gently.

Tears began welling up in Clary's eyes but she held them back. "You know you're wrong. I owe you everything. You stood up for me, you fought for me, and you could have _died_—" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You could have died because of me, and I'm so sorry. I was stupid and selfish, and I'm so sorry for prying—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Clary. You have nothing to be sorry for," Jace cooed, pulling her into his arms just as she broke down into tears of guilt and regret.

He leaned his cheek against her hair affectionately, closing his eyes contentedly, returning her the comfort she had given him. She fitted perfectly in his embrace—it was almost as if their bodies were molded specifically for each other's. He pulled her auburn hair out of its ponytail and ran his fingers through them gently. They were soft, softer than he had imagined them to be.

Too soon, Clary pulled away, sniffling as she rubbed the tears away from her eyes. "I'm sorry I cry too much," she whispered meekly, causing Jace to chortle heartily despite himself.

His laughter died down soon enough though, when he began to feel his body aching again, and his face turned into a tight grimace. "_Ouch_," he choked, eliciting a peal of giggles from Clary in return.

"See? That's what you get for laughing at me," she tittered, clutching the stitch that had begun to form in her side.

"_Jace_," he said suddenly.

Clary's giggles halted and she looked at him confoundedly. "What?"

Jace inhaled a deep breath, his face serious as he held Clary's gaze. "My name is Jace," he said, biting his lip. "I thought you'd like to know that," he stuttered, then turned away, feeling panic rising within him.

Did he really just tell Clary his name?

'_Oh no, what if her father told her that Stephen Herondale had a son named Jace and she figures out that I'm _that Jace_? She's going to hate me, she's going to kill me,_' his mind blathered.

"Jace," she said, testing his name out on her tongue. He looked her wide-eyed in alarm, and Clary briefly wondered why he was looking at her like that.

To his surprise, she simply said, "I like it. _Jace._ It really suits you."

She smiled at him sincerely, and he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, blushing a little. '_Wait a second… Jace Herondale does not blush!'_ he panicked again despite his fatigued mind.

"You should sleep," she said softly, ending Jace's little mental fit.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

Inside, Jace cursed himself for sounding so needy, for sounding so weak. What the hell was wrong with him? He was digging his own grave, just by letting himself to open up to Clary, by letting her in. But then, why couldn't he just stop?

"Of course," Clary murmured sweetly. "Come here," she said, patting the space on her lap, and Jace complied, laying his head on her lap, reclining on his side so as to avoid putting pressure on his still tender back.

"Good night, Clary," he said with a small smile, closing his eyes as Clary stroked his hair again, lulling him to sleep.

"_Good night, Jace_," was the last sweet thing he heard before he was consumed by peaceful oblivion.

And for the first time in eight years, no nightmares plagued him in his sleep.

* * *

**Ahh Clace fluffiness...and Clary finally knows Jace's name! *gasp***

**Thoughts on this chapter? A lot of Clace moments to come from here on out...so I hope you guys will be excited for that. _(I'm assuming ya'll are Clace shippers after all!)_**

**I'll be busy for the next four to ten months, so I'm really sorry but I'm going to take a longer time to update from now on. Hopefully at least once a month. Till then, please drop me a review!**

**XO! ~N **


	10. Chapter 9: A Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

SURPRISE, SURPRISE! I updated before the month was out!;) Honestly, the reason I decided to update early is because it's my birthday, and for some weird reason, I thought updating would be a great way of celebrating it:) OK, so enough about me, let's get on with the story!

Just to recap from where we left off the last chapter, Clary visited Jace in his cell the night of the whiplashing incident and took care of him...Jace in his moment of vulnerability lets Clary in and told her his name! YEP, and in this chapter, that I've set a week after the events in the previous chapter, we see their little friendship blossoming. Hehe, I can't wait for you guys to read this chapter! Not gonna give anything away! So without further adieu, please R&R!

p.s. Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and the lovely reviews so far...your loyalty to this story means so much to me and I love you guys so much;)

p.p.s Gillian73 just pointed out sth quite important based on my author's note in Chapter 5: Duties and Dilemmas regarding Valentine's/Michael's age... Yes I'm such a failure with my mathematical calculations...Valentine and Michael should be in their forties rather than mid-thirties since Jon is practically 22. And Valentine had Jon when he was around 19/20. Okay that's it!

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters...

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Leap of Faith**

A week had passed since the horrendous whiplashing incident; and after spending an entire week in confinement in his cell in recovery, Jace was finally declared well enough to resume his gladiator training and nightly duties at the royal stables.

Though Jace hated to admit it, he was actually excited to be back, despite the unsavory task of shoveling manure. The past couple of days had been an absolute bore; being stuck in the dank cell all day long with no other company but Michael and Alec nearly drove Jace unhinged. If it weren't for Clary's nightly visits, he might have very well lost it.

A lazy smile adorned his lips as he recalled the past few nights he had spent in Clary's companionship. Ever since she learnt his name, Clary had been noticeably more forthcoming with Jace; they had joked more often and their little tête-à-tête sessions had been more casual and relaxed. Granted, they hadn't divulged into anything particularly personal or serious yet, but Jace liked how they were able to just talk about trivial things like their favorite colors without having to worry about upsetting the other. Not to mention, they had even exchanged a couple of friendly hugs in the past week—which Jace secretly enjoyed, of course.

He knew that pursuing this friendship with Clary was risky—what if she found out who he really was? What if she was secretly spying on him for Valentine? But then, Clary would never do that, would she? She hated her own father, that much he knew even if she would never admit it to him; she would never do favors for Valentine. Being with Clary, especially when she was smiling or giggling, it made Jace feel a whole lot happier, and quite frankly, it made him feel more _alive_ than he had ever felt before.

"Jace!" Clary shrieked excitedly as she ran into the stables, her emerald green eyes sparkling with child-like happiness. She dropped the cherry-colored picnic basket she had been carrying to the floor of the stables, and unexpectedly, she flung herself at him.

Not having enough time to brace himself for the force of Clary's hug, Jace toppled over backwards onto the hard concrete-tiled floor, landing on his back in a graceless heap with Clary on top of him. Her small hands pressed against Jace's chest, Clary giggled heartily as he groaned, wincing as a sharp throb shot through his back.

Clary sobered, her eyes widening in worry as her giggles vanished. "Oh, Jace, are you okay? I'm so sorry. That was so stupid of me. What was I thinking? You're still hurting. Oh my God, I'm really sorry, Jace," she spluttered.

"Hush, Clary. I'm fine, just a little sore. For goodness' sake, you really need to learn how to stop rambling," Jace interrupted her with an amused look, his nose inadvertently brushing against hers.

Realizing how dangerously close their faces were from each other, Clary's eyes widened again and she quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing the dirt off her emerald green gown. Jace got up as well, though with much more elegance this time, grinning at Clary's flaming scarlet cheeks.

"So, what are you doing here?" Jace asked smilingly.

Clary huffed at him and promptly placed her hands on her hips. "Oh, so do you want me to leave?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, just curious, little one. No need to be so _touchy_," he teased.

"I am not little!" she argued. "I'm turning 16 tomorrow!"

Jace paused thoughtfully. "It's your birthday?" he asked, his tone serious.

"_To-mor-row_," Clary replied, enunciating each syllable in the word.

Her face suddenly turned bashful, and she lightly gnawed on her bottom lip. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to spend the eve of my birthday with me," she said in a small voice, her chin tucked closely to her neck as she avoided his eyes.

Jace placed two fingers underneath her chin, tilting it up gently so that he could meet her eyes. Clary looked at him meekly. "I brought cupcakes," she added, causing Jace to stifle a laugh.

"Bribing me with cupcakes? You're trying to make me fat, aren't you?" he asked, attempting a solemn demeanor. In addition to Clary's little visits, she had also been spoiling him treats—snacks from _Taki's _mostly—and it was beginning to turn Jace into a sugar-obsessed child.

"You said you liked cupcakes," Clary pouted.

Jace chuckled. "Yeah, I do. But if I suddenly lose my perfectly-chiseled abs, _I'm blaming you_," he said, poking her little button nose.

Clary scoffed. "Oh, please, it's not like anyone's going to see your abs anyway when you're fighting in the arena. No one's going to notice, much less care, if you're chubbier. And I beg to differ, your abs aren't as _perfect_ as you think they are," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Jace's eyes widened. "Oh, how you wound me so, _Milady_!" he jested, placing his hand over his heart in mock-hurt.

"I swear—you and Jonathan should be best friends. You're both just as equally obnoxious as the other," Clary replied, before a grin stretched across her face and she bounced up and down on her toes enthusiastically. "So that's a yes, right?"

He grinned back at her. "How could I possibly say no to _cupcakes_?" he jibed, heading towards Wayfarer's stall.

* * *

What had started off as a joyous, peaceful ride soon turned into one that was completely daunting and perturbing.

Clary had expected Jace to be taking her to Lake Lynn again as they had on their first horse ride, but instead he'd made a detour; and now, they were trapped inside the dark and foreboding stretches of Forbidden Forest, like rats in a maze.

"_Jace_," Clary whimpered, her arms tightening around him like a vise grip, her heart hammering loudly in her chest that she was certain the sound of her heartbeat could be heard echoing off the trees in the forest.

"Jace," she pleaded him again.

"Shh, Clary. It's all right. Don't worry about it. We're not lost," Jace replied confidently, not sounding in the least bit unsettled.

Clary wasn't sure whether to take his confidence as a positive sign that he genuinely knew where he was going, or that he was simply being his complacent and egotistical self. She hoped to God it was the former. She didn't know how long she could survive being in there. It was called the _Forbidden _Forest for a reason! How she wanted to smack him senseless with the picnic basket for dragging her in there; but then, it wouldn't do her any good if her guide was knocked out cold now, would it?

Overhead, the moonlight cast ominous shadows on everything that it touched. Cedar trees towered above them sinisterly like the dark, malevolent spirits of the forest. Angry, deformed faces materialized from the gnarled and twisted bark of the tree trunks; the crooked, sprawling branches molded into shapes of grisly, unearthly talons; and shadows—_baleful shadows_—haunted them from every corner, forming the illusion of monstrous apparitions.

She whimpered loudly, burying her face into Jace's back just as the loud hooting of an owl penetrated the still air.

"Shh, Clary, just close your eyes and relax. We'll get _there_ soon," Jace told her in a sonorous voice. Clary rolled her eyes in response, wondering where "there" was supposed to be.

Soon after, Clary felt Wayfarer's trots slow down to a halt, and she warily lifted her head from Jace's back. Instantly, dread filled her again.

"Where are we, Jace?" her voice trembled as Jace began to dismount the brown steed. He offered her his hand, his expression imploring her to trust him, and hesitantly, she did.

As Clary's feet landed on the grass, she quickly tucked herself into Jace's side, her hands yanking the material of his shirt tightly. Jace wrapped an arm around Clary's shoulder, hauling her closer to him, and he retrieved the basket from her shaking hands, leading her deeper into the glade.

There in the clearing of the forest stood an enormous tree—it was like nothing at all Clary had ever seen, grotesque, yet strangely beautiful at the same time. Its trunk was massive and sturdy, with swirling vines that interwove with one another, forming a series of intricate knots; thick, long branches protruded from the tree, extending in wild directions in an ornate pattern that resembled a spider web; and leaves of various hues of green embellished the tree, fluttering lightly against the soft night breeze.

In the middle of its trunk was a tall archway that could easily be passed off as a mystical portal to another dimension. A canopy of billowing leaves hung down from it like an old, worn tapestry, obscuring the panorama that lay beyond the mysterious, old tree.

It was only after Jace had tugged Clary forward towards the veiled archway that she realized she had been frozen to the spot, silently gaping at it. She turned her head towards Jace, deep creases formed on her forehead, but he only smiled at her in return.

_What was he doing? _

What if there were snakes or other carnivorous creatures hiding behind that archway, secretly waiting to pounce and feast on human flesh? Or worse, what if there were supernatural beings guarding the place, biding their time to lead them to some other transcendental realm, where they could never escape?

Clary knew she was being irrational by conjuring up a bunch of ridiculous theories, but at this point, she couldn't help it. Was Jace crazy?

'_Oh my God! What if he is crazy and psychotic? Maybe he's been having his own version of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the whiplashing and is trying to retaliate by killing me! It makes sense; I was the reason he nearly died. Oh no, he's going to murder me, and then he's going to dump my body here and leave me to rot where no one else can find me!'_

Clary's eyes widened in fear, and to Jace's own shock, she let out a loud, ear-piercing scream.

Jace's heart floundered in his chest just as Clary's shrill screech pierced the night air. He reeled over backwards, landing on his butt; the picnic basket chucked a foot away from him. He could have sworn he felt his skin jump an inch off his bones and he stared wide-eyed at the hysterical princess.

She held her hands out in front of her, as if to ward him away, and then before he knew it, she burst out into a run, heading towards Wayfarer. It took Jace only a second to regroup himself, and then, he was up on his feet, his long strides easily catching up with her.

Clary was about to mount Wayfarer when she felt Jace's strong, muscular arms grabbing her from behind, yanking her body against his. She panicked, and began throwing small punches on his arms, willing him to free her; but Jace didn't budge at all.

"Jace! Jace, let go of me!" she shrieked frantically, but Jace's grip didn't even loosen.

In a desperate attempt to free herself, Clary bit down hard on Jace's arm and effectively, he released her, muttering curses as he examined the new tiny teeth marks on his arm. Clary stumbled onto the grass and crawled behind Wayfarer, using the horse as a shield to protect herself from Jace. She peeked between the horse's legs at Jace and saw him eyeing her queerly, as though he was mulling over the possibility that she had gone insane.

"Clary, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jace asked her in disbelief.

"_You_—you were going to kill me and dump my body into some—some _swamp_!" she yelled as tears began pouring down from her eyes.

Jace gave Clary a look of pure incredulity at her accusation, and then to her surprise, he doubled over in manic laughter.

Clary broke out of her teary haze, feeling her temper beginning to flare up from within her. "What the hell is so funny?" she demanded.

"You—you thought I was—going to kill you!" he snorted out as he continued laughing at her. He clutched at his stomach and Clary waited minutes before he finally calmed down, a huge infuriating grin plastered onto his face. She growled at him, and the grin instantly fell from his lips.

Jace walked towards Clary slowly, heaving her off the grass and brought her to his chest, hugging her tightly. "Clary, where did you get that crazy notion from?" he asked her in a gentle voice, though Clary knew he was trying his best to control himself from breaking out into another round of laughter.

"You were going to drag me to that weird, scary tree," she replied in a thin voice. "And, I don't know, I thought you wanted to kill me for revenge for the whole whiplashing incident with Sebastian."

"I _know._ And I'll admit—dragging you to that tree must have seemed very… _shady_ of me. But Clary, I already told you; I don't blame you for that incident with Se_bas-tard_. You trust me, don't you? I'll never let anything bad happen to you, I promise," he said reassuringly.

She nodded. "But, Jace, why are we going into that tree?"

Jace smirked. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out," he simply said, pulling her towards the archway in the tree again. She didn't budge. "Oh, come on, Clary. Have a little faith in me," he pleaded with her.

She sighed, hesitantly taking a step forward and then another, until they were finally standing in front of the veiled entrance of the tree. "You better not make me regret my decision of trusting you," she grumbled, cueing another smirk from Jace.

"And just so we're clear—If I _die_, I'll make sure to haunt you for the rest of your life," she warned as Jace retrieved the picnic basket from the grass where he had accidentally dropped it during Clary's little panic fit.

He cocked an eyebrow at her expertly. "Look at you, making threats already. My, my, Clary, how you've grown," he teased her.

Without even the slightest bit of wavery, Jace marched towards the leaf-infested archway, holding up a mass of tangled leaves and vines to the side so that they could enter the archway without any of it hindering them.

Clary chewed on her bottom lip nervously. It was so dark, and she couldn't see anything beyond the vines. Was it some sort of a cave constructed into a tree?

"After you, Milady," he inclined his head to the side, nudging her forward towards the entrance.

Clary took a deep breath, and with a leap of faith, she entered the archway.

* * *

_Beautiful_ was an understatement to describe what Clary saw as reached the other side of the archway. Her jaw fell open in awe as she drank in the enchanting sight that lay before her.

There, as far as the eye could see was a meadow; it stretched on, miles and miles, a glorious and almost-divine expanse of lush green grass, festooned with a multitude of flowers—reds, yellows, purples and whites clashed against each other in a riot of colors.

Clary recognized some of the species of flowers from her botany books—rose mallows, marigolds, cape daisies, wild birds, corn chamomiles and a dozen more she barely remembered herself. Yet, an even more breathtaking sight was the myriad of fireflies that floated amongst the flora, radiating a swarm of bright yellow luster that was even more brilliant than any of the stars that hung in the night sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jace's resonant voice broke Clary out of her reverie; she had been so enamored by the magical sight that she had completely forgotten about his presence.

"Breathtaking," she breathed, never taking her eyes off the meadow.

Jace smiled at Clary; her emerald eyes were shimmering with complete wonderment it made his heart melt. He twined his fingers around her small ones, tugging her hand lightly to get her attention. He noticed her reluctance as she peeled her eyes away from the meadow and looked at him begrudgingly, a questioning look etched onto her porcelain face.

He smiled at her. "Come on," he said, pulling her into the meadow.

Clary smiled back at him and wordlessly followed, her insides imploding with excitement. The meadow wasn't very tall, thankfully, only reaching her knees. Jace pulled Clary down onto the grass, and she eagerly complied, soaking in the feeling of the grass against her body. It was soft, softer than any silk. She inhaled the scent that wafted through the air deeply—the sweet-smelling fragrance of flowers mixed with the fresh, earthy smell of rich soil.

She ran her fingers over the grass, and delicately caressed the soft petal of a flower belonging to a plant she didn't recognize. The flower was rather oddly shaped, slightly hairy in texture, and its color was a soft blend of white and lilac.

"That's _clary sage_," Jace told her after watching her finger the petal of the flower curiously.

Clary looked up at Jace, a look of surprise on her face, mostly because of the stark realization that the flower was her namesake.

"It's beautiful," she returned, not knowing what else to say.

"Just like you," Jace said with an earnest expression, his aureate eyes fixated on her intensely.

Clary blushed and looked away, her hands reaching for the picnic basket. She took out a box of cupcakes she had bought earlier that day from _Taki's _and removed the lid. She frowned at the cupcakes, "They're all smudged."

Jace took the box from her hands. Sure enough, all the frosting and toppings on the cupcakes were smudged; some of the cupcakes were toppled over—courtesy of Jace having dropped the basket earlier.

"Oh well…at least they're still edible. It's your fault I dropped the basket just now anyway, what with you screaming like you're part-banshee. You're lucky I didn't die of a heart attack, otherwise, you'd be trapped in this forest forever," Jace commented flippantly.

Clary narrowed her eyes at him indignantly. "My fault? Are you honestly blaming me now? Why, yes, now that I think of it, _of course it's my fault_! I After all, anyone in their right minds _wouldn't_ get suspicious and freak out when they're being dragged into the Forbidden Forest and into an even creepier tree!" she retorted sarcastically.

"You have such little faith in me…surely you must've heard of the expression that '_things aren't always what they seem'_," Jace said with a pout.

Clary smirked in return. "Hmm, I quite agree with that expression, especially where _you_ are concerned. I mean, who would've thought that underneath all that hard muscle, you were just a jumpy little boy? I mean, it took one little scream to knock you off your feet, _literally_," she mocked him.

"Oh, don't even go there, missy. I'll have you know that _nothing_ gets to Jace Her—" he froze, quickly catching himself before he could let his surname slip.

Clary quirked an eyebrow, "'_Her_'?"

He cleared his throat loudly. "Nothing. I just thought there was something on your _hair_. It's gone now," he lied smoothly.

Clary shrugged. "You are such a weird boy," she shook her head before reaching for the box of cupcakes on Jace's lap.

And just like that, Jace's almost slip-up was forgotten.

They devoured their cupcakes contentedly, playing a game of '20 questions' as per Clary's request; though by now, Jace was certain they'd gone up to 50 questions instead. It was extremely stressful for Jace—he didn't know what sort of questions Clary would ask him, but luckily for him, they'd managed to swerve clear of topics regarding his childhood and past.

Jace learnt, among other things, that Clary, like her mother, was an artist, and loved to sketch and paint in her free time. At this, Jace couldn't help but tease her by offering to be her nude model, claiming that his looks could easily put Adonis to shame; and of course, she returned his jest with a much endearing blush.

Now, much to Jace's disdain, they were talking about something Jace hated almost as much as Valentine—ducks.

Clary giggled, "So you're saying that if you were given the choice of whether to fight against a pack of lions or a flock of ducks in the arena, you would choose to fight lions instead?"

Jace leveled her with a serious and almost incredulous look. "Yes, Clary, I'm saying that exactly," he said flatly.

She giggled again. "But Jace, ducks are so cute! They're so fluffy and cuddly, and besides, I've always wanted a little duckling as a pet!"

He looked at her as though she had grown two heads. "Never, ever trust a duck or call it 'cute', Clarissa. Those devious little creatures…have you ever seen their eyes? They're beady, like a demon's. I bet they're a bunch of bloodthirsty cannibals too," he gritted out, causing Clary to laugh harder.

"Whatever you say, Jace," she grinned at him widely.

After a while, they lapsed into silence again, basking in the peacefulness of the meadow; that was, until Clary chose to speak up again.

"Jace, how did you find this place?" Clary asked, looking at him intently.

Jace froze, swallowing the last bite of cupcake in his mouth almost painfully. When he brought Clary here, he didn't even think about the possibility of her questioning him about his knowledge about the place. What was he supposed to tell her?

Truthfully, of course, the reason he knew about this place was because of his parents; they had brought him here when he was five;

Jace remembered that day perfectly.

Just like Clary, Jace had been utterly terrified—_and had very nearly wet his own pants_—when his father had dragged him through the archway in the scary, old tree; and just like Clary, he had been completely awed when he first saw the enchanting meadow.

Jace remembered his father telling him that in his teenage years, he had often spent his time exploring Idris; and it was on one of his little adventures that he had discovered the secret meadow. For Stephen Herondale, the meadow had always held a special meaning to him. It was here that he had shared his first kiss with his true love, Jace's mother, Celine, when she was 16 and he 18.

No one else knew about the meadow, of course. It had always been a place that belonged to the Herondales; and now, Jace thought, it belonged to Clary, too.

Jace didn't know why he had even brought her here. Divine intervention, perhaps? Or maybe, despite the fact that his mind kept telling him that he couldn't, or shouldn't, trust Clary enough to tell her about who he really was, his heart still wanted him to open up to her; and of course, what better way to open up to her than by bringing her to a place that was close to his heart?

Maybe in a sense, his heart was telling him that he _did_ trust Clary.

"Jace?" Clary's voice broke him out of his rumination.

"Hmm?" he asked her, blinking rapidly to clear his mind off his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just remembering," he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's just that—I—" he stuttered, and Clary reached out to grab both of his hands in hers, squeezing them gently in assurance.

"Can you—can you keep a secret?" he asked in a small voice. He had never felt more vulnerable, and quite honestly, more _afraid_ than he was now. In fact, he hadn't felt like this since the night his mother died.

"Yes," she replied, smiling at him encouragingly.

He squeezed her hands tighter, feeling comfort radiating from her touch. With a sigh, he told her, "I used to live here, in Idris, before I became I slave."

Clary processed his words, the silence stretching between them. "So," she began carefully, not wanting to set him off, "I take it your parents used to take you here?"

Jace winced noticeably, and he looked away from her. He nodded; a lump was beginning to form in his throat, and he didn't think he was capable of speech right now.

To his surprise, Clary only said, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Jace nodded, a small smile on his lips to convey his apology—_for not being able to tell her about his past_—and his gratitude towards her—_for her not pushing him to tell her about it_.

Clary nodded at him in return, and they continued to eat their cupcakes in silence.

Clary knew better, and she was going to pry anything from Jace if he wasn't comfortable of talking about it. She was curious about his past life in Idris, yes, but she had learnt from her past few encounters with Jace that she should never push him to tell her things he didn't want to. She could see from his face how much it hurt him to remember his past—it was definitely the chink in his armor.

She knew now the reason behind his entire masculine ego and arrogance—it was just a façade, a mask he turned to, to hide his real feelings, his insecurities; underneath all of his _perfection_, he was really just a little boy—scared and vulnerable. Yet, Clary found, that she wasn't turned off by his flaws; it just made him seem more of a human, and she liked that much more about him.

In the far off distance, the clock tower in Idris tolled, signaling that it was already midnight.

Clary's eyes widened in shock as she realized that she had been spending a whole three hours with Jace and that she had just missed her curfew.

What if someone comes into her room to check in on her and finds her missing? Her father would definitely flip out—well, he would more than likely be irked and punish her by whipping her with his belt. And not to mention, he would also probably send out a search party for her, and that would definitely not end well for her, and _especially_ Jace.

'_Oh my God. Jace! He'd probably be accused of kidnapping me and then Father would most likely sentence him to death!'_ she thought worriedly.

"Jace! We have to go! Now!" Clary almost screamed at him, scrambling to her feet.

He looked at her in confusion. "Huh?"

"It's midnight! I just missed my curfew. If anyone finds out I'm missing from my room, we'll both be dead! Well, you more than me, but anyway, we have to go!" she said urgently, tugging at his arm to force him up onto his feet.

Hearing the insistence in her voice, Jace got up quickly. Clary was clearly in a state of frenzy, and Jace wasn't going to go against her wishes—she would probably scream at him again if he ignored her. _'Time passes by too quickly,'_ Jace thought morosely.

In her haste to leave, Clary failed to notice that the picnic basket was still in its place on the grass. Mistakably, she took a huge step forward, and her foot coincidentally caught with the handle of the basket; she tumbled forward, flailing her arms wildly. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the impact of the fall—but it never came.

Strong hands clutched her by her waist, and Clary felt herself being hauled backwards into Jace's muscular arms, her back pressed up against his chest. Her heart sped up; she turned her head around to thank Jace, but just as they came face-to-face, he tilted his face down towards her, and caught her lips with his.

Jace didn't what he was doing or what was happening; but honest to God, he couldn't give a damn about it. He turned Clary around in his arms fully, pulling her body flush against his as they kissed. He faintly registered the sound of her gasp just as their lips touched, but he didn't pull away. Her lips stilled against his, just for a few seconds, before she responded to him eagerly.

Their lips moved against each other's in perfect synchronization, like a perfect harmony of musical notes. Her lips felt so soft against his, like petals of a flower. He licked the seam of her lips, begging for entrance; slowly, she granted him access, and they explored her each other's mouths, reveling in the taste of the other. She tasted so sweet, like a mixture of caramel and cinnamon; hell, she tasted better any cupcake, and he never wanted to let her go.

Clary had never kissed anyone before, but she knew that no other kiss could surpass the one she was sharing with Jace right now. All her worries, all her inhibitions left her as she poured her heart and soul into the kiss. Her hands threaded through Jace's soft, lustrous curls, pulling his face impossibly closer to hers. His left arm held her securely against his body; his hand resting on her waist while his right hand wove itself through her long red tresses.

All too quickly, they pulled away from each other, silently cursing the need for air. They were both panting heavily, as though they had just ran from corner of the meadow to the other; but they were smiling, their bodies thrumming with euphoria from that single kiss. Jace leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths still intermingling with each other's.

"We really need to go," Clary panted, her emerald green eyes gazing deeply into his aureate ones.

Reluctantly, Jace complied, but only after placing another small peck by the corner of her mouth. They broke out of their embrace, heading back towards the forest clearing; all the while their hands remained entwined with each other's.

* * *

The ride back to the royal stables was in peaceful silence.

Clary's head rested against Jace's back, her arms coiled tightly around his waist as she soaked in his warmth. She closed her eyes, feeling perfectly serene and happy—more than she had ever felt in a long time.

Jace was her first kiss, she thought repeatedly with a smile; and she wouldn't have it any other way. Kissing him was truly phenomenal—if she had thought that touching him was enough to make her insides tingle, then kissing him was like having fireworks explode throughout her entire body.

Again, Clary couldn't help but wish that Jace were a prince instead of a gladiator. She would've married him in a heartbeat! Just the thought of being with someone else, kissing another man's lips, felt wrong.

She sighed at the thought. At this point though, she just hoped that no one would notice her missing from the palace and go searching for her; she didn't want to get Jace into trouble, not when her night had been so unbelievably perfect so far. She moved her right hand up, pressing her palm against his chest where his heart was pounding—it was extremely comforting, and she let her mind focus solely on Jace's strong heartbeat.

Jace felt alive, _more than alive_. His heart was racing with so much adrenaline and—_dare he say it_—happiness. For the first time in eight years, when he had kissed Clary, he let his mind completely forget all his worries, his past, and his quest for revenge to kill Valentine—and he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't liberating or uplifting.

Was it right to feel this way though? Was he being selfish for wanting Clary more than he wanted to kill Valentine, more than he wanted to avenge his parents? Maybe he was being selfish, but he deserved every little bit of happiness too, didn't he?

He didn't have the time to answer his own questions as the stables came into sight.

Clary jumped off Wayfarer immediately just as they came to a stop, her green eyes shifting around anxiously. She glanced around the stables—no one else was there but her and Jace, _thankfully_, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

As soon as Jace had returned Wayfarer to his stall, the bolts to his door secured properly, Clary walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to feel him. He hugged her back, just as tightly, as though he, too, never wanted to let her go.

After a minute of hugging, Clary pulled away. "What happens now? Between the two of us?" she asked timidly, her green eyes not daring to look into Jace's aureate ones.

Jace sighed heavily. "I don't know, Clary," he replied after a while. "Things—it's just complicated between us. I'm _me_ and you're…you. I don't know how—"

"But you want to be with me, right?" she interrupted, her eyes glazing with unshed tears as she finally made eye contact with him.

Jace froze for a moment in shock at the straight-forwardness of Clary's question. Did he want to be with her? _Hell yes._ He didn't understand the feelings he had for her, but Jace knew without a shred of a doubt that he at least _liked_ Clary. It didn't matter if she was infuriating and made him mad at times. The point was, she made him feel _something_. And that was better than just living his life like an empty vessel, never having to feel anything or only having to bottle all of his emotions up. Would it be worth it though? Was Clary worth the chance? Would it all be worth it, to free-fall into the unknown?

Jace nodded unwaveringly, his eyes shining with determination. "I do. I want there to be an…_us_. There's nothing I want more than that, nothing I want more than you. I'm not going to lie. I really like you, Clary, and I want you to give me a chance, give us a chance," he said earnestly. "You will, won't you? You'll give us a chance?"

Clary smiled, a happy tear running down her cheek. "Of course. Even if it's hard or damn near impossible, I want you. I want no one else but you." She blushed, looking at Jace from underneath her eyelashes. "And I really like you too, Jace," she admitted, biting her lip abashedly.

Jace chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear lovingly before gently swiping the tear away from her cheek, his touch lingering. He smirked, "Then let's seal the deal with a kiss."

He bent down, and captured her lips with his in a slow and gentle kiss; it was nothing at all feverish like the kiss they'd shared at the meadow, but it was filled with just as much passion and emotion. When they pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers, giving her a smile he reserved only for her.

"Tomorrow night?" he asked.

She nodded comprehendingly. "Tomorrow night. I'll see you then."

She pecked him lightly on the lips again, and turned to leave.

"Clary?" Jace's voice stopped her in her tracks and she turned back to look at him. He grinned, "Happy Birthday, my Clarissa."

She blushed, like the smitten teenage girl that she was and said softly, "You're the best birthday present I've ever gotten, you know that?"

"Of course," Jace replied smugly.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Good night, you arrogant bastard," she said as she headed towards the exit of the stables. With a final glance at her secret lover, she vanished from his sight.

Jace grinned to himself, his fingers lightly skimming over his lips as he reminisced the feeling of Clary's lips pressed against his just moments ago. Pursuing this relationship with Clary was risky, but for now, he didn't want to worry about the consequences. He wanted to feel happy—even if it only lasted for one night.

* * *

**HOLY MOTHER OF CHEESINESS! **

**Sorry about that; I'm aware of just how bloody cheesy I am, and I apologize if it was too much...but that's exactly just the way I am, haha;) On the other hand, I do hope that at least some of you liked it/loved it? *bats my eyelashes innocently***

**I spent a lot of time researching on arched trees and meadows for this chapter...but obviously this tree wouldn't exist in real life...I just added my own 'spin' to it to make it cooler? Huh, I just realized that the archway to the meadow is kinda a little like the wardrobe to Narnia...that was definitely not intentional...meh, at least we know that no magic/supernatural etc. is going to happen in this story...**

**But anyway, do leave me your thoughts on this chapter, your favorite parts about it, or what do you think will happen in the next one...etc, etc. BTW, it was purely coincidental that I posted this chapter on Clary's birthday on my birthday...but heck, just FYI, in this story, the timeline is probably somewhere around mid-October so technically, I don't have the same birthday as Clary. I wish my birthday was as cool as hers, though... Nope, I got ice-cream cake! That's gotta be cooler than cupcakes, right? Yeah no, who am I kidding? Life would only be awesome if I had Jace:( Obsessively in love with a fictional character...God, I need to get my head checked! **

**Again, I know it's annoying that I keep apologizing, but the subsequent updates will be done monthly...I'm in my final year of tertiary studies and school is being a real pain in the *ahem* you-know-what-I-mean...I'm really sorry to those of you who wish I could update sooner! If you really want, you could PM me for a snippet for the next chapter?**

**BUT ANYWAY, City of Heavenly Fire is coming out in just a couple days from now! I bet everyone will be busy with COHF then to bother with FF! (Or I could be wrong)... I'm interested to know your opinions on what you think will happen in COHF! Who do you guys think are the six characters who are going to die? Who do you think are the two couples that are going to get married? (Fingers crossed* CLACE! CLACE! CLACE!) and btw, any of you guys big fans of the tmi movie? I'm like still wondering when they'll announce that they're making CoA. If they don't, I'd be seriously disappointed for life:(**

**OK, I'm rambling; sorry I'm high! Will shut up now... **

**Please remember to review, guys! It'll really make my day!;D Hope everyone has had a fantastic day so far!**

**XO!**

**~N**


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